


Nothing's Missing

by underratedkings



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst, Deaf Character, Disability, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 43,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23251774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underratedkings/pseuds/underratedkings
Summary: “Sometimes it takes dealing with a disability - the trauma, the relearning, the months of rehabilitation therapy - to uncover our true abilities and how we can put them to work for us in ways we may have never imagined.” -Tammy Duckworth...Just eight boys, doing their best to make it through life with the cards they’ve been dealt.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Kang Yeosang, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 123
Kudos: 407





	1. Seonghwa and Hongjoong

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy. See the end notes for story time about how this story came to be

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Kim Hongjoong considered himself a very lucky man.

Sure, his producing career hadn’t quite taken off yet, but he was getting steady enough work. All paying, as well. And sure, he wasn’t living the lavish life he aimed for, with luxuries like a full eight hours of sleep and coffee that wasn’t from the corner store, but he could live with that.

What he did have, however, was Park Seonghwa.

How that Adonis of a man ever allowed Hongjoong to steal his heart will forever be a mystery to him; but it had been four years, three of which saw them sharing their cozy apartment in Seoul, and they had never been more in love. He felt it even as he was jolted away by his shrieking alarm.

Groaning, Hongjoong rolled over, slapping his hand onto his phone. Once the alarm had kindly shut the hell up, he turned back, snuggling into Seonghwa’s broad shoulders. Shifting around, Seonghwa pulled him into his chest instead.

“G’morning,” Seonghwa grumbled, only receiving a grunt in response. A few shakes of the shoulder and kisses to his nose later, and Hongjoong was finally making his way out of bed and to the bathroom. They’re usual routine began.

They brushed their teeth side by side, sharing a sleepy kiss once the mouthwash had done its job. A quick shower was had, clothes were thrown on, and they left the apartment. They fought the finicky elevator along the way, making it to the corner store with enough time to grab their coffee. If there was one thing both Hongjoong and Seonghwa loved, it was their morning routine together. It was something that, no matter the hectic day ahead or whatever struggles they’d had that night, gave them time to just be with one another.

The thought made Hongjoong smile as he walked Seonghwa to the bus before he would make his own way to the train for work. They both had their morning coffee, sipping as they walked briskly down the bustling sidewalk. Seonghwa was dressed in a sweater and slacks, black hair styled down, looking every bit as soft as the pastries he’d make during his shift at the bakery. Hongjoong was a stark contrast, dawning his skinny jeans and hoodie, a beanie covering his freshly bleached silver hair. Hongjoong found the comparison funny.

“Stop that,” Seonghwa cut off Hongjoong’s train of thought. The shorter pouted.

“What?”

“Stop looking at me like that,” Seonghwa clarified, smirking. “We’re in public.” Ah, yes. If only they lived in a perfect world where they could kiss each other goodbye before parting for work. Maybe one day, but not yet. However, Hongjoong did manage to sneak a hand to Seonghwa’s wrist as they came to the bus stop. He squeezed it lightly.

“Love you,” he whispered, bright white teeth on display. Seonghwa felt his heart stutter, as always, and returned the look in his lover’s starry eyes. He wished he could hold his Hongjoong a little longer, just a few more minutes, but they had to get to work.

“Love you, too,” he whispered. Hongjoong shot him a cheeky wink before releasing his boyfriend and walking off toward the train. And if Seonghwa’s gaze lingered on his skinny-jean clad ass a little too long, then who’s to say?

Seongwha had been waiting for the bus for barely a minute. He looked up across the street, something feeling off. Perhaps the sun was shining a bit too brightly, the people shuffling by a bit too peppy. He couldn’t put his finger on it.

It wasn’t long, barely a minute. Suddenly, there was a screech of tires, followed by the crunching of metal and the shattering of glass. A final bang, and then a moment of silence. The moment was shattered by screams piercing the air. Seonghwa looked over to the direction Hongjoong had left to, his daily path to the train. There, smoking on the sidewalk, was a destroyed car half sticking out from store front.

For a few seconds, Seonghwa just stared, his gut turning heavy. Then slowly, he began walking toward the carnage, dodging the people trying to get away. His eyes searched, praying, pleading. Then, his heart sank as low as it could go.

There, on the sidewalk, was a familiar beanie.

Then he was running. His eyes were wide and panicked, searching the wreckage. There were bodies, none of them familiar to him. Seonghwa’s breath was heaving, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. His hearing sounded muffled, like he was underwater.

There. Seonghwa choked out a sob, hand flying to cover his mouth. God, he wanted to vomit.

“Hongjoong-ah!”

He ran to silver hair, quickly caking red with blood. Hongjoong was on the pavement, not moving. His upper body looked alright for the most part, but his legs…his lower body looked positively mangled, twisted and grotesque, a chunk of flesh hanging off one of his calves by a tendon. There was blood everywhere.

Seonghwa fell to his knees, sobbing as he gently placed his hands on his boyfriend’s cheeks. Hongjoong did react.

“Joong-ah,” he sobbed out. “Hongjoong, baby? Look at me, please look at me…” His eyelids fluttered, opening just barely. “Hey, baby, there you are. Just keep looking at me. Oh god, Joong, oh my god…”

“Hwa…” Hongjoong managed. “I…can’t feel…everything…” Seonghwa shushed him softly.

“Don’t speak, Joong-ah, you’re gonna be ok,” he gulped, “alright? You’re gonna be fine.”

Seonghwa couldn’t look. He would break if he did. Hongjoong tried to look down, sensing in his dazed state that something wasn’t quite right, but Seonghwa kept hold of his face, locking their gazes.”

“Hey, no, don’t look…ok?” Seonghwa begged. “Eyes on me, Joong-ah. Don’t look away.”

Hongjoong tried to nod.

“Eyes…I see you…”

“That’s right, baby.” Another sob. “Hongjoong-ah…I love you so much. So much, Joong. I love you, I love you.” The tears were coming faster, blurring his vision as Hongjoong’s eyes started to slip shut.

Finally, after what felt like hours, sirens, flashing lights, people whisking Hongjoong away into an ambulance, yelling all kinds of words Seonghwa didn’t have the energy to keep up with. He just followed close, riding in the ambulance, numb to everything around him. It wasn’t until he was led to a seat in a hallway to wait that he well and truly broke.

His chest trembled and heaved, sobs ripping free one after the other. His arms wrapped around himself as his mind raced, waiting for the doctor to deliver the worst news. All he could do was cry, wishing over and over that he’d kept Hongjoong at that bus stop just a little longer.

….

Hongjoong jolted awake, covered in sweat, his core muscles trying and failing to pull him upright. His gut spasmed a few times, causing is upper body to bounce on the bed before he was able to get a hold of himself. He breathed, deep as he could manage, eyes wide as he tried to quell the panic. Hongjoong held the breath, forcing his muscles still, before letting out with a shaky exhale.

Seonghwa reached over, half-awake, placing his palm softly on Hongjoong’s chest. Hongjoong closed his eyes, immediately using the weight of his hand to ground himself. His breathing slowed as his brain caught up, removing itself from the nightmare it’d been trapped in.

“You ‘kay?” Seonghwa mumbled, eyes not even open. Hongjoong nodded.

“Yeah…sorry,” he whispered.

“Shut up,” Seonghwa immediately shut him down. Despite the sharp words, he leaned over and kissed his jaw lightly. “What do you need?”

“Help me sit up?” Hongjoong asked after a moment. Seonghwa nodded, sitting up himself. Hongjoong placed his palms flat, ready to push himself up, and Seonghwa put his hands on his waist, ready to lift and help.

“Ready? 1, 2, 3.” Together, they got Hongjoong’s upper body leaning against the headboard. He looked at his sleepy boyfriend in the low lighting, a glance at their clock telling him it was only 4 AM, over two hours before their alarm.

“Sorry I woke you,” Hongjoong said softly stroking a hand through Seonghwa’s bedhead.

“Shut up,” Seonghwa said, as he always did when Hongjoong apologized for something he couldn’t control. There was never any real heat behind the words. Seonghwa kissed his shoulder. “You wanna talk?”

Hongjoong shook his head.

“Not now, but you should get some more sleep,” he whispered. Seonghwa narrowed his eyes. “Please? I’ll feel better if you do.” That was always Hongjoong’s go to when this happened.

After a moment, Seonghwa slipped back under the covers and made himself comfortable on Hongjoong’s lap, twisting to press a kiss to his navel before closing his eyes again. Hongjoong’s hand naturally found his hair again and began petting, letting his mind wander to more menial thoughts.

By the time the alarm sounded, Hongjoong had found himself dozing off in his upright position. The alarm shriek made his heart jump, Seonghwa whining for it to be turned off. It took Hongjoong several slaps to the bedside table before he was successful. Rubbing his eyes, Seonghwa took a deep breath in preparation before he hauled himself up, shaking off the fatigue.

“M’morning,” he slurred, smiling. Hongjoong felt his heart melt. God, he loved this man, even with his swollen cheeks and hair sticking up in every direction. Seonghwa pulled at the covers over Hongjoong’s lap, and the latter felt his heart drop in an instant.

“Hwa…” he said shyly, keeping his grip on the covers. “Not today.” Seonghwa glared at once.

“Hongjoong,” he said, stern. “It’s routine. It’s important to me.” Hongjoong sighed; he fought this battle almost every morning and lost it every single time. Relenting, he let go of the covers, letting his boyfriend pull them off. As soon as his lower body was exposed, Seonghwa dove in.

He started at his calves, as always, running his lips over every surgery scar and paying special attention to the sizable area of missing flesh on the left one. His fingers followed, ghosting over the skin. Seonghwa’s lips worked up Hongjoong’s legs, placing kisses on the inside of either thigh. Hongjoong wished with all his heart that he was able to feel those lips on his skin.

With one last, long kiss to Hongjoong’s navel, Seonghwa pulled up and kissed him soundly on the lips.

Finally, Hongjoong smiled.

They parted, Seonghwa patting his chest with a, “come on.” Hongjoong positioned himself more sideways, pulling his legs one by one to hang over the side.

“You want the transfer board today, or you want me?” Seonghwa asked as he rolled off the side, fetching Hongjoong’s wheelchair and rolling it to the bed.

“Transfer board,” Hangjoong decided. “I got it.” Seonghwa smiled and conceded, helping his boyfriend get the board in place. It took longer and was harder on his muscles, sure, but having some independence meant the world to Hongjoong. Once he’d transferred into his chair, lifting his legs one by one into position, he instantly grabbed for the wheels and began pushing himself the kitchen.

“Coffee,” he murmured, only for Seonghwa to catch him by the handles and turn him around.

“Ah, ah, brush teeth and shower first.” Seonghwa pushed him toward the bathroom. Hongjoong released the wheels and threw his head back, giving the taller an upside-down pout, but allowing himself to be pushed.

“But we finally have a coffee pot. We can have our own coffee whenever.”

“That doesn’t change anything! Now stop complaining and brush.”

Once they were clean to Seonghwa’s approval, they were at last sat in the kitchen, both nursing fresh cups of coffee. Hongjoong scowled as a bowl of cereal was placed in front of him.

“I never used to have breakfast…”

“True,” Seonghwa answered, still bustling around. “But the new doctor said it’s important, and you seem to like her better than the last two, so…”

“Yeah, ‘cause I didn’t have any results with last two,” Hongjoong grumbled, halfheartedly, twisting the spoon but not eating any just yet.

“Yes, you did,” Seonghwa dissented. “But that was over three months ago, the wounds were still fresh, you were still healing. PT just went slower then. Now, everything’s healed, and you can focus on recovering. Building yourself back up.” Hongjoong scoffed lightly.

“You sound like Doctor Chaeyoung.”

“Good. We already agreed we liked her better.”

“Yeah, ‘cause before her I couldn’t even hold a pen.”

“You’re exaggerating. Eat. We have to leave soon.” Hongjoong pouted again, making Seonghwa stand and place a hand on his head. “Come one, you only have four hours of PT today, then you can come home and work on your tracks all you want. Oh, and don’t forget, Yeosang’s coming over tonight for dinner.” He swooped down and kissed that pout, Hongjoong begrudgingly shoving a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

“Hey.”

Hongjoong looked up and noticed Seonghwa looked a bit more somber.

“I’m so proud of you,” Seonghwa knelt down, eye level to his boyfriend. He placed a hand on Hongjoong’s knee. “This…this would’ve broken so many people. But not you, because you’re so strong, and you’ve already come so far.” He paused, blinking back tears. “I love you, and I’m so proud of you.”

Hongjoong didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t. He just nodded, whispering, “thanks,” and “love you, too,” reaching down to take Seonghwa’s hand. He gave it a squeeze, Seonghwa gave him a smile, and then he returned to his bustling around the kitchen.

Once breakfast was gone, they loaded up in their new car, a loan from Seonghwa’s parents who, luckily, loved Hongjoong as if he were their own. After a short drive and a long goodbye kiss, Hongjoong transferred from the car into his chair and made his way up the ramp into the physical therapy center.

Doctor Chaeyoung was waiting for him at the counter, a schedule already in hand. She was strict but didn’t treat Hongjoong like he was made of glass; hence why he favored her methods. She started him out with two hours to work on his hands, focusing on his grip and articulation until his wrists ached and his fingers felt they were going to fall off. He was about to move onto core exercises for his last hours when a loud voice interrupted.

“Hyung!”

Hongjoong spun his chair to see Song Mingi limping fast up to him. His crutch looked like it would slip any minute under such speed, his bad leg all but dragging behind him in his excitement. Hongjoong smiled.

“Mingi-ah, slow down before you bust up your other leg.” Hongjoong was only teasing, and Mingi just laughed it off. For as gangly and uncoordinated as Mingi appeared, he was more graceful than people gave him credit for. Hongjoong knew this.

He’d met Mingi here at the center only three weeks after his accident. Hongjoong had been in a dark place, buried in his own depression over his brand-new wheelchair, barely acknowledging anyone. Mingi hadn’t said a word. He’d made his way over, needing two crutches at the time, sat next to the older, and offered him one of his earbuds. Apparently, Mingi had noticed the Epik High t-shirt Hongjoong sported the day before and shared a similar music taste. To be honest, Hongjoong credits Mingi as much as Seonghwa as the reason he didn’t just give up on PT in his darkest moments.

“What’re you on today?” Hongjoong asked. Mingi just waved his hand dismissively.

“Eh, strengthening the hip, same old,” he said. “You?”

“Moving to core now,” Hongjoong slapped his flat-as-a-board stomach. “Gotta keep up with that six pack, right?”

“You’re hilarious, hyung,” Mingi deadpanned. Hongjoong raised a hand threateningly, but there was no real heat behind it.

“ _Aish_ , this kid,” he said, exasperated. “To think, I was gonna ask him to come record for me this weekend.” Mingi’s eyes lit up.

“Really, hyung? Which track is ready?” Mingi pressed. “Is it on your phone? Lemme listen!” He grabbed for the phone where it was sitting on the cot, reaching over Hongjoong and nearly ending up in his lap. The older grabbed it first.

“Oi, you can hear it this weekend! Just come over Saturday.” Mingi pouted at that.

“I guess I can live with that,” Mingi sighed wistfully. “At least Seonghwa-hyung will be glad there’s someone well-mannered in your apartment for once.”

The second it left his mouth, Mingi scurried away as fast as he could, Hongjoong giving chase after him, cursing, his sore hands pushing as fast as they could. They received nasty looks from several other patients and nurses. Mingi rounded a cot, doing his best to hide, without much success.

“ _Ya_ , Kim Hongjoong!”

Hongjoong skid to a halt, internally cursing. Doctor Chaeyoung stormed up to him. She didn’t say anything, just stood in front of him, arms crossed.

“Back to the exercises, got it,” he mumbled sheepishly, feeling like a scolded child. She nodded curtly, and Hongjoong turned himself back to his station. He made eye contact with Mingi, giving him a mean look. Mingi just smiled and blew him a cheeky kiss. That kid was dead come this weekend.

Hongjoong took a long breath. Mingi always made him feel lighter; the kid’s bright, glass-half-full, ‘it could always be worse!’ attitude was contagious, Hongjoong decided. It made Hongjoong wish he could see the bright side of his situation like Mingi did.

Seonghwa always reminds him how lucky they are. “Several people died, Hongjoong. I could’ve lost you, but you’re still here.” But Hongjoong would be lying if he said he hadn’t had the thought that maybe he should’ve died. It would’ve been easier, for everyone. Seonghwa would’ve mourned but wouldn’t have been saddled with this burden. Hongjoong wouldn’t have to suffer like this, having his life completely uprooted, always feeling less than.

He remembered when he first woke up, tubes and masks and needles in him and all around him. He remembered being told he went through many surgeries, none of which he recalled, though they said he had woken up a few times in between. He remembered the doctor explaining to him his paralysis, that he’d never walk again. He remembered being told he’d need extensive physical therapy to regain full function of certain portions of his upper body.

He remembered the first time they did a sensory check on his legs, watching as the doctor poked and prodded, not feeling a damn thing.

He remembered being asked if he could push his foot against the doctor’s hand; he couldn’t.

Hongjoong remembers sitting there, his thoughts spiraling and his heart falling farther and farther into his gut, and as much as he wanted to scream and cry that it wasn’t true, he couldn’t do that either. All he could do was let himself sink deeper and deeper into that cold, dark place.

Hongjoong went through a phase in the weeks after he returned home, doing everything he could to get Seonghwa to leave him. But Seonghwa was smarter than that, seeing right through what Hongjoong was trying to do. He tried to play it off for a while, dismissing Hongjoong’s cruel words and harsh actions when he lashed out, until finally he broke down.

He screamed his heart out to Hongjoong. How dare Hongjoong think him so selfish that’d he’d leave, just because things got a bit harder. How dare he think so little of Seonghwa’s love for him. Hongjoong had just sat there and taken it, knowing he deserved every verbal bullet Seonghwa shot him with. It ended with both of them weeping, apologizing, and patching each other’s wounds with soft kisses and loving words.

Things were better now, months later, brighter. There was acceptance on both sides, knowing they would make mistakes and face it together, knowing they were working though this side by side.

Breaking from his thoughts, Hongjoong caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the far wall. He was pale, skinny, that was nothing new. But he looked so small, so weak in his chair, frailer than he ever had before all of this.

Hongjoong hated it.

He shook his head and closed his eyes; take another deep breath and think of Mingi. ‘It could always be worse!’ Think of Seonghwa. ‘I’m so proud of you.’ Hongjoong opened his eyes and convinced himself to smile, exhaling hard as he spun around to start on his exercises.

At least he still had the chance to make things better.

At least he was still alive.

Hongjoong was a very lucky man.


	2. San and Wooyoung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Choi San has a foot in two different worlds. But only one of them holds his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, welcome to day god-i-want-to-die of quarantine. I hope you enjoy the chapter

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“Choi Jongho!”

Choi San was an idiot. Why did he always do that?

His brother had been deaf since he was eight years old, yet San still called his name as if it would do any good. Waving his arms like a mad man, he was able to catch Jongho’s eye as he descended the school steps, brown hair bouncing on his forehead with each step. Smiling, he made his way to his hyung, who obviously thought he looked so cool leaning on a nearby railing.

“Pose all you want, hyung,” Jongho said, signing as he did. “Not like Wooyoung-hyung will notice.” San kindly responded with his middle finger. Jongho just laughed, the brat.

“How was class?” San asked, hands signing to match his words. Jongho was ok at reading lips, but sign was always preferred. Jongho shrugged.

“Fine. Just ready to get to the center.” The center being a center for the arts where Jongho’s vocal lessons took place every other day after class. Jongho checked his phone. “Wooyoung-hyung’s class is out.”

Ah, yes, Jung Wooyoung; one of Jongho’s upperclassmen and San’s best friend. When Jongho first lost his hearing and had to transfer to a school for the deaf, San had met Wooyoung on the playground one day while his mom fetched his brother. Being nine at the time and his brother only having been deaf for a couple of months, San knew little to no sign language. But that never mattered for the two of them. They clicked like no one else San had met in the decade they’d know one another.

Things get complicated, however, when you factor in that San’s been in love with Wooyoung since he was fifteen. He remains clammed up about his feelings while also dropping subtle hints—hints San knows, deep down, Wooyoung will never get—that he wants to be more than friends. He knew Wooyoung would never abandon their friendship over something like that, but San also knew it would indeed change things between them, most likely for the worst. If anything, it would change things for San; if the floodgates opened and his feelings for Wooyoung knew the light of day, San wasn’t sure he’d be able to go on as things were.

So, San would stay quiet. Just like in the dramas.

Jongho waving caught San’s attention. Wooyoung was exiting the neighboring building, smiling so brightly San felt he needed sunglasses. He looked adorable in his yellow striped sweater, protecting him from the crisp breeze.

 _“Hyung, hurry up!”_ Jongho signed, overexaggerated for Wooyoung to see over a distance. _“We still need to grab snacks!”_ This prompted Wooyoung to run, giggling silently.

Unlike Jongho, who retained most of his speech after his incident, Wooyoung had been born deaf. He hardly ever spoke, and wasn’t the biggest fan of lip-reading; quite the opposite of San’s brother.

They always switched solely to sign for Wooyoung.

_“Let’s go!”_ Wooyoung signed, jumping around, smile widening by the second. He threw an arm around San, dragging him around to start the walk toward the train. San laughed, grabbing Wooyoung by the waist, lifting him, and spinning him around. Jongho followed behind them, shaking his head.

This had been their usual routine for about a year now. San would come to their university—same school, they were just different years—after his own classes and meet them both. They’d take the train to a bakery a block from the center and pick up some snacks and coffee along the way. It used to be just San and Jongho, since Jongho had been taking his speech and vocal class for about three or four years, but when Wooyoung joined a dance crew based out of the center a year ago, he began tagging along.

San used to go to interpret for Jongho, but as Jongho wanted to work more on lip-reading, he found himself interpreting for Wooyoung instead. It worked out, as Wooyoung was not the only deaf dancer in the crew, so there were multiple people that benefited from San’s presence.

Hopping off the train at their stop, Wooyoung was practically combusting at the prospect of snacks. As they reached the bakery, each having regaled overexaggerated tales of their days, Wooyoung and Jongho immediately went to claim their usual table as San went to order.

It was a bit more crowded than usual; the intoxicating smell of the bakery having drawn in more and more people. San finally got to the front of the line, ordering their usual drinks and goodies, paying quickly and turning back. His mind was elsewhere, preoccupied by the mouthwatering thought of the apple-cinnamon Danish coming his way; a voice stopped him.

“Choi San?”

San turned; the face was familiar, where had he seen him? It took San a second.

“Kim…Seojun?” The man smiled. So, San had gotten it right.

“Hey, man! Good to see you! How have you been?”

“Good, good,” San responded. “Since graduation, I’ve been attending Yonsei. How about you?” Seojun laughed.

“Yonsei, woah. Yeah, I’m good,” he responded. “Man, once we graduated, I thought life would be easier! Guess I was way off.” San laughed, a little unsure what to say. He and Seojun hadn’t been very close in high school, so he was feeling a bit out of place. “I saw you came in with some friends! They from Yonsei, too?”

“No, that’s my younger brother and a friend,” San answered, trying not to be rude. He played it off, but he watched as Seojun’s smile dropped, his eyes glancing at something behind San.

“Oh…your brother?” Seojun shook his head. “I didn’t realize…man, it’s a shame you’re still saddled with the kid.” San froze and felt his heart plummet. His smile turned icy.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know, back in high school, we all always felt so bad for you! Always having to take care of a deaf kid brother, you know? I’m just…sorry you’re still stuck with him.”

San didn’t move, his fake smile long having fallen. In that moment, he felt almost a bit numb, unsure if he was really hearing what he was hearing. Once his brain caught up, all he wanted was to punch that pitying look off Seojun’s face.

Forcing an even faker smile, San swallowed and straightened.

“It was good seeing you,” he forced out, turning back. Seojun caught his arm, and San resisted the urge to yank it from his grip.

“Hey, I’m sorry if I said anything—” San pulled his arm, as gently as he could manage.

“It was good seeing you.” He sounded much emptier, not bothering to fake inflection that time. Turning again, he was horrified to catch Jongho’s eye, who had been behind him. Seojun clearly hadn’t cared, thinking Jongho would have no idea what he was saying. He paused, then simply took Jongho’s hand as they walked toward the bathroom. They stopped at the door.

 _“How much of that did you catch?”_ Jongho looked down.

 _“Enough,”_ he finally answered. San sighed, feeling heavy.

 _“You know that’s not true,”_ San signed with earnest. _“You’re not a burden. Never. I’ve never thought that.”_ Jongho nodded.

 _“I know, hyung.”_ The expression on Jongho’s face wasn’t as reassuring as his words. San grabbed his hands, forcing Jongho to meet his eyes. San looked at him as seriously and sincere as he could. Finally, Jongho sighed, smiling. He wrestled his hands free. _“I know, hyung. You’d be some dead-beat teenager without me.”_ San laughed.

 _“Hey, be respectful!”_ San bopped Jongho on the forehead, knowing full well his little brother could snap him in half with ease. Then he sobered. _“I love you, Jongho.”_ Jongho softened.

“I love you, too, hyung,” he said out loud. _“Now move. I want to use the bathroom.”_ San laughed again, patting Jongho on the shoulder before letting him pass to the restroom. San made his way back to their table, picking up their order along the way. Wooyoung was waiting with a worried look.

 _“Everything ok?”_ he asked as San put the food onto the table. _“Who was that guy? He grabbed you. What was he saying?”_ Wooyoung’s hands were moving fast, not even giving San time to answer.

 _“Slow down,”_ he said. _“One at a time. He was a guy I went to high school with. No one important. He…”_ San paused, not really wanting to repeat such things, but he knew Wooyoung wouldn’t let it go. “ _He was saying stupid things. Ignorant things. How Jongho was a burden to me. How he felt bad I was stuck with him.”_ San looked up from where his eyes had been glued to the table, seeing Wooyoung looking ready to cry.

_“How much did Jongho catch?”_

_“Enough.”_ San stared into Wooyoung’s teary eyes. He never wanted to look away. _“It’s not true. Jongho and…and you. You two are my world.”_ Wooyoung reached and took both of San’s hands, squeezing before letting go to respond.

 _“I know, we both know. You’re my world, too.”_ God, if San could freeze time, he’d pick this moment. His heart was fluttering, his own eyes feeling a bit misty as a lump formed in his throat. Wooyoung continued. 

_“Jongho and I will never know what you have to go through.”_ San gave him a confused look. _“You have a foot in the deaf community and a foot in the hearing community, so you get the worst sides of both. It must be hard.”_ San shook his head.

 _“I can’t complain about being hearing,”_ San denied, but Wooyoung shook his head right back at him.

 _“No, just because you’re not deaf doesn’t make your problems invalid,”_ Wooyoung cut him off. With that, Wooyoung took his hands, keeping them both from continuing, rubbing his thumbs across the back of San’s knuckles. San looked at him, his breathing stuttering. Wooyoung smiled, and San’s heart melted.

Jongho picked that moment to return.

 _“Ew,”_ he signed as he sat. San blushed, smacking his brother on the bicep before reaching for his coffee, taking a long enough sip to give himself a brain freeze. Wooyoung’s shoulders shook with silent giggles. The mood quickly lightened, the three of them joking around as they ate and drank.

Before long, it was time for them to head to the center for class. Walking with Wooyoung in the middle, having woven both his arms through the brothers’, they walked the block to the center, going their separate ways once inside.

 _“Call me if you need anything,”_ San shot to his brother as Jongho waved in response, already walking to the music section while Wooyoung pulled San toward the dance studio. As they walked in, he saw various people were already stretching in front of the mirror. San spotted the leader fiddling with the speakers.

“Yunho!” he called, the tall man turning. Yunho smiled, waving to both of them, San taking his spot against the mirror while Wooyoung joined the other dancers. Before long, San spotted Choi Yeonjun enter with his boyfriend, Choi Soobin. Wooyoung immediately jumped up to hug Yeonjun, the two of them being close, as Soobin joined San with a greeting.

Yeonjun and Wooyoung were two of the three profoundly deaf dancers in the crew; Yeonjun usually brought either his boyfriend, or his little brother Beomgyu to interpret. The third dancer, a girl named Lee Chaeryeong, didn’t often bring anyone, but sometimes came with her friend Ryujin. Whoever came with the three always traded off interpreting throughout practice.

Soobin sighed as he plopped down next to San.

“San-hyung,” he groaned, leaning a head against San’s shoulder. “My hands are tired. Can you go first today?”

“Aish,” San scoffed, pushing him off his shoulder. “This kid, you think my hands aren’t tired, too? Try keeping up with Wooyoung for a day.” Soobin, the gentle giant he was, just laughed innocently. They sat together, waiting for Yunho to begin practice. San, as always, found his eyes drawn to Wooyoung’s lithe form, moving with grace and fluidity. San knew he was making heart eyes, he just didn’t care.

“Ya know,” Soobin cut into his thoughts, “one day, he’s going to notice you looking at him like that.” San scoffed.

“Please, it’s been years,” he rebutted. “If he hasn’t noticed yet, why would anything change now?” Soobin gave a dimpled smile, but his response was cut off by Yunho coming to the front to start. San moved to stand behind him, on the side Wooyoung, Yeonjun, and Chaeryeong stood, to interpret for them. He stuck his tongue out at Soobin as he hauled himself up, the younger sending him back a teasing finger heart.

Practice went well, as usual, San and Soobin trading off duties a few times over the hours. Watching Wooyoung was always a gift to San, as the former learned the rhythm of the choreography, every now and then being able to feel the vibrations through the floor. Wooyoung was talented, remarkably so, moving without a bit of hesitation. Finally, Yunho clapped loudly.

“Ok! I’ll show one last time for our three to feel the beats. If anyone else wants to join for a final run, please stay on the sides!” Yunho motioned Wooyoung, Yeonjun, and Chaeryeong to the speakers; it was something he’d come up with when he first formed the group. Yunho would demonstrate the choreography while the three had their hands on the speakers, feeling the beats they normally wouldn’t be able to through the floor, and seeing how they corresponded to the moves. San took this time to run to the bathroom.

While walking through the lobby, a man San hadn’t seen before caught his attention. He was about San’s age, lanky, with faded red hair and a crutch on his right arm. He was looking at a basic map on the wall, not moving. The center wasn’t very large, but maybe the man was confused?

“Um, excuse me?” San asked. The man startled, turning to him. “Can I help you find something?” The man just stared, his lips parted, before looking down.

“No, sorry,” he said in a low, deep voice before walking away, his crutch helping with a prominent limp. San watched the man go, wondering who he was, what he was looking for.

Eventually, he shrugged it off, hurrying to the bathroom. He shouldn’t take too long.

His world was waiting for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who was the man? Ok, that one's obvious, but what did he want?...perhaps, also obvious.  
> Who's gonna show up next??
> 
> To shed a little more light on this story, since last time I talked about the inspiration stemming from my own experiences, I want this to focus, not so much on the "disabilities" but more on the relationships between the boys. All of them, in time, will come together, and all of them will form different bonds. That's what I want to explore here; how differences in people can effect and be overcome through friendship and love. Super cheesy, typing it out like that, but I hope to do this in a grounded, realistic fashion.  
> Hope that's something you're into. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you liked it. Leave me a comment, let's chat. It can be about anything, I'm very bored. See ya'll next time.


	3. Mingi and Yunho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mingi is happy putting on a smile for those who need it, but maybe it's time someone smiled for him instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy

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Song Mingi was a coward.

Well…he felt like one, anyway.

The first time he showed his face at the arts center was the hardest. He’d been shaking in his shoes, still on both his crutches, terrified one Jeong Yunho would appear out of thin air to corner him.

Mingi had made his way to the front desk, wearing both a cap and mask. He pulled the mask off once he reached the counter, though, trying to appear less suspicious. He gave the lady a shaky smile.

“Hello,” Mingi had greeted. “Does a…Jeong Yunho…teach here?” His uncertain tone received a funny look.

“Yes, but Yunho-ssi is in a class right now,” she’d replied. “Would you like me to take down your contact info? I could pass it along for you?” But Mingi had panicked, shaking his head.

“No, thank you, I, um, I’ll just catch up with him later!” And with that, he’d fled as fast as his crutches allowed him.

He returned several times, always peeking in first to make sure the front desk was empty. Over the last two months, he’d returned six times.

This made seven.

Mingi stared blankly at the map on the wall, despite the fact he knew exactly where the dance studio was, where Yunho was. Maybe today he’d do it. After all, the practice was about to end. Hell, give it twenty minutes and Yunho would be right in front of him! Mingi had never made it this long before, he usually left long before Yunho had the chance to spot him. Mingi had come this far, he could make it a bit farther, right?

…yeah.

There was no way. Mingi was way too much of a coward.

“Um, excuse me?” Mingi jumped and turned, terrified that his traitorous thoughts had somehow materialized Yunho right behind him. Thankfully, it was someone else, a guy around his age with sharp features. “Can I help you find something?”

Maybe he should say yes, that he’s waiting for Yunho, finally ready to face his fears and his past. Instead, all that came out was, “no, sorry,” and Mingi turned and left.

Yep. Coward.

The second he rounded the corner he stopped, leaning against the wall. He felt his chest swell, a lump forming in his throat. He stared down at the crutch in his hand, before throwing it to the sidewalk as hard as he could. He stopped, before deciding he wasn’t done, slamming his head back into the wall hard once, twice, three times.

There was pain, stars dancing in his vision, his jaw clenched hard and his lungs heaving. After a long moment, the rage passed. Mingi bent down slowly, picking up his crutch, inspecting it for damage. He checked his head for blood, and finding none, began to walk.

He didn’t get it. How can he miss someone so terribly but be so desperate to avoid them? Mingi felt like a walking contradiction…well, limping. A tall, gangly contradiction on crutches.

No tears. He didn’t deserve to grieve.

Making his way to the bakery down the block—empty, given the hour—he stopped at the counter, looking every bit as pathetic as he felt. Keonhee was at the counter to meet him.

“Hey, Mingi-ssi,” Keonhee said with a sad smile. “Need me to grab Seonghwa?” Mingi nodded. God, he felt like a child. Keonhee left him there, heading to the back, only for Seonghwa to appear in his place. He was still in his apron, covered in flour and what looked like red velvet batter. It looked more like he’d come from a crime scene than a kitchen. Seonghwa smiled.

“Mingi-ah,” he greeted softly.

“Hey, hyung,” Mingi weakly offered back.

“You tried again today?”

“…yeah.”

“You didn’t hurt yourself again, did you?”

“…”

“Mingi.”

“Don’t tell Hongjoong-hyung,” Mingi said meekly. “Please? We’re supposed to record Saturday.” Seonghwa sighed. They both knew his hyung couldn’t resist those watery puppy eyes.

“Go sit,” Seonghwa motioned to the one of the plushier chairs. “I’ll bring you a tea.”

“And sweets?”

“Don’t push your luck.” Mingi pouted, feeling a bit less like he was drowning and a bit less alone. The door chimed, and Mingi moved to get out of the way, only for him to bump shoulders with the arriving customer.

“Ah, sorry about that,” Mingi mumbled, looking up.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

“Song Mingi.”

Jeong Yunho was staring back at him with wide, round eyes. He was still a bit sweaty from dancing, bag and jacket slung haphazardly over his wide shoulders. Wow, he looked good.

That’s all Mingi’s racing brain could comprehend until it came to one, conclusive thought. _Run_.

Snaking around Yunho, Mingi made a break for the door, pushing out and onto the sidewalk. He started toward the train, his hip and shoulder aching from the strain.

“Wait, Mingi!” Great, he was being followed. Mingi had no chance. It didn’t take long before Yunho caught up and was jumping in front of him.

“Mingi, please, just hold on.”

“M’sorry,” he mumbled, eyes on his shoes. He didn’t want to see it, the look on Yunho’s face as he took in Mingi’s crutch, the odd way his right leg sat, the bulk of the knee brace under his pant leg. Mingi tried to dodge him again, but Yunho side stepped. He wasn’t letting Mingi get past.

“Mingi.” Yunho’s tone was deathly serious. “Please.”

Everything stopped for a moment, the sound of cars fading into the background. Mingi finally peeled his eyes from the ground. Yunho had that look in his eyes, that fiery determination Mingi remembered from before all of this. Yunho took the eye-contact as Mingi letting him speak.

“Please, just talk to me,” Yunho all but begged. “It’s been so long. I haven’t heard from you, no one has! You just disappeared, and everything I’ve heard, it’s all rumors! No one knows—” he stopped, then calmed himself. “Please. Just have a coffee with me. Let’s talk.”

Yunho reached over, slow, as if trying not to spook him. He gently took Mingi’s free hand, running his thumb over his knuckles. Mingi opened his mouth, but his brain hadn’t decided what he wanted to say. His heart was racing, blood rushing in his ears. It was now or never. Finally, he closed his mouth and nodded.

....

By the time his mind caught up with the rest of him, he was sitting back in the bakery, Yunho across from him looking ready to explode, but was holding himself together. Seonghwa stopped by, placing down Mingi’s tea and Yunho’s iced coffee, giving Mingi a comforting pat on the shoulder—an, ‘if you need me, I’m here’—before leaving them be. There was a long silence before Yunho spoke.

“You look good,” he smiled; a bright smile that his shining eyes mimicked. “Really good. I like the hair.” Mingi laughed, but it sounded a bit empty.

“Liar,” he joked. “We both know I’ve never looked worse.” Yunho raised his eyebrows.

“That’s not true,” he retaliated. “I saw you during your first hangover, remember?” Mingi groaned, definitely remembering.

“I’ve tried to forget that.”

“Yeah, like I'd let that happen.” They both laughed softly, feeling a bit more real, a bit less tense. There was another pause.

“You look good, too.” It was true. Yunho was always unfairly handsome, but he looked matured, lingering baby fat from high school long gone. “How is…everything?” Yunho smiled gently.

“It’s good,” he said. “The dance department is way more boring without you, but classes are good. The dorms, too. The guy that moved into your old room is some law student, but he always blares music when he studies, which is all night.” Mingi smiled at the normalcy of it all. He missed school.

“And…I finally started the crew we always talked about,” Yunho softened. His voice grew light, almost sad. “It’s going well. The dancers…they’re good, really good.” Mingi felt his heart sink. “I just…wish you were there with us. Then, everything would be perfect.” Mingi’s hands turned to fists, gripping his jeans until threads popped. Yunho noticed.

“Mingi, hey,” he reached across, placing a hand on his knee, right over his brace. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” But Mingi shook his head.

“No, no, it’s…it’s good,” he tried to assure Yunho. “I…wish I could.” There was another pause.

“Mingi?” Yunho seemed almost scared to continue. “You don’t have to, but can you tell me what happened?” Another pause. “You just vanished, and people were saying you were in the hospital, but no one knew where or why…and I thought, surely you’d tell me. You were my best friend, maybe even more, I thought surely I’d…” he stopped himself. Tears were welling up in his eyes.

“It was my heart.” Mingi’s mouth moved before his brain. He glued his eyes to his long-cold tea, feeling numb. “I told you about my heart, right?” Yunho swallowed and nodded, pulling himself together.

“Yeah, an irregular heartbeat, right?” Mingi nodded. He could do this; deep breath.

“I had a stroke.” A pause, then he continued before he lost the courage. “Because of my heart. It was bad, real bad, and…I actually died. For a few seconds, anyway. They were able to resuscitate me. When I woke up, though, my entire right side was paralyzed. I couldn’t eat, or talk, they had to feed me through a tube. They had me on a ventilator for a while, too; they were worried my right lung might fail.

“Eventually, it got better. The paralysis in my face began to fade with therapy. Once I was off the tube and the ventilator, I was in an electric wheelchair for months, since my right arm was still…yeah. That got better, too, with time. I was able to use crutches, but…well, my lower body hasn’t recovered the same. When I first woke up, the doctors weren’t sure if my paralysis was temporary or not. It was possible that some of it could be and some of it couldn’t, or all of it could or so on. But when my face and arm got better, there was hope, you know?

“But once I was on the crutches, and I started therapy for my leg…it wasn’t the same. I didn’t make progress like I had before. All the hope I had just…came crashing down around me. I’ve made progress, it’s just…very, very slow. And they don’t know if it’ll continue.” Mingi stopped, afraid he may break, but it needed to be said.

“They don’t know if I’ll every be able to dance again,” he choked out. “And not knowing…it’s almost worse.” Mingi finally looked up, seeing tears streaming down Yunho’s face.

“I’m sorry I never contacted you, but honestly?” Mingi choked back a sob. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.” His voice broke at the end as he inevitably devolved into sobs.

Mingi’s hands came to cover his face as his chest heaved with loud, ugly cries, tears flowing through his fingers. Suddenly, Yunho was with him, pulling Mingi’s head into his neck, winding his arms around him. Mingi didn’t question it, throwing his arms around those wide shoulders, clinging to his shirt.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mingi cried into his neck. “I missed you so much, I missed you.” His voice cracked as Yunho shushed him softly, petting the back of his head, right where Mingi had bashed it earlier.

“I missed you, too,” Yunho said, sounding just as broken up. “I missed you a lot. It’s ok, everything’s ok. God, Mingi…”

He’s not sure how long they clung to each other, Mingi weeping in to Yunho’s neck, but it finally came to a point were Mingi didn’t feel like he was being squeezed to death from the inside. Slowly, he peeled himself off of Yunho, eyes aching and face feeling puffy, to see Yunho kneeling before him. His eyes were equally as swollen.

Then, Seonghwa was there, tissues in hand, swiping at Mingi’s face and a rubbing his back. Yunho gratefully took a few for himself. It took some time, and some gulps of the fresh tea Seonghwa brought, but Mingi eventually felt his feet touch solid ground again.

“I’m ok,” he croaked. Seonghwa looked less than impressed, but Mingi’s watery smile was enough to sway him. Mingi swallowed and looked back to Yunho.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” the taller cut in before Mingi even had the chance to open his mouth. He had stood to wipe his tears, but Yunho kneeled down again to be eye level with Mingi. “I’m so sorry, Mingi, for everything. I’m sorry you have to go through all this, you’re the last person who deserves any of it.”

“It’s really ok,” said Mingi, blushing at Yunho’s close proximity. “It’s…it’s easy to keep a smile. Nothing is permanent yet, for me. I’m still progressing, so there’s still hope! I just, um…I just feel kind of pathetic sometimes.” Mingi said it with a smile in the hopes of it coming off humorous, but Yunho’s eyes only got sadder. Mingi backtracked. “But like I said! It’s easy for me to see the bright side. After all, there are people around me who need me to smile…they count on it.” Mingi thought of Hongjoong, how the older could get so lost in his own dark thoughts.

“I get it,” said Yunho. “Sometimes it’s easier to find happiness for the sake of others. But, if they’re relying on you, who are you relying on, Mingi-ah?” Of course, Mingi didn’t have an answer. Yunho, hesitating a bit, took Mingi’s face in his gentle hands. The smaller felt his face heat up. “I don’t rely on you to smile, ok? You can be sad around me, or angry, or tired, ok? Promise me you’ll remember that.”

“Yunho…”

“I don’t know if you want me back in your life,” Yunho admitted. “I know, when you left, things were complicated. We weren’t quite sure…what we were. But if you’ll have me, I want to be by your side. And…maybe we could finally figure it out?” Mingi felt his lip quivering all over again.

“You’d still want me?” He sounded so small.

Yunho didn’t answer. Instead, Mingi watched Yunho’s eyes melt as he smiled; then, he leaned in a pressed a soft kiss to Mingi’s cheek, just shy of the corner of his lip. Mingi felt his chest swell, for a different reason this time. He coughed out a laugh to keep himself from crying again.

“You’re going to make me cry again, asshole.” Yunho threw his head back and laughed. He collected Mingi into his arms, whispering a “sorry” into his hair.

“Missed you,” Mingi mumbled into Yunho’s chest. “I miss dancing. I miss dancing with you.” Yunho hummed in agreement. Then, he stood.

“Come on,” he grabbed Mingi’s crutch, handing it to him. “Anything you want, my treat.” Mingi scoffed.

“Please, I know the baker. I eat free every time.”

“Ya, Song Mingi!”

“Sorry, Seonghwa-hyung!”

Yunho laughed loud again, looking at Mingi like something precious. After a year of nothing, complete radio silence from Mingi, he still looked at him like that. Even with a near-immobile leg and a crutch on his arm, he still looked at him like that.

Mingi found his heart full of hope. Maybe he was jumping the gun a bit; especially since he and Yunho had a lot more to talk about before they figured anything out. But Mingi couldn't help but hope, it was in his nature.

After all, Mingi _had_ been in love with Yunho since the moment he met him.

And if love didn’t give people hope, then what would?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheesy? Yes. Do I care?...only a little. We've still got some characters on the way, some relationships to form...but for now here's Yunho being a darling. And Mingi being a soft sad boy, who is more observant than he let's on
> 
> Also, Seonghwa works at that bakery?? I wonder if that'll come into play later on...
> 
> Hope you liked it! Anything in particular in the story you're looking forward to?


	4. Seonghwa and Hongjoong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seonghwa needs help, but Yeosang might be the only person who sees that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy
> 
> WARNING: rating is going up in this one, due to sexy times.

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Finally, it was the weekend. Seonghwa could cry in relief.

His limbs felt heavy as he entered their apartment, kicking off his shoes and throwing his jacket onto the chair in the living room. He made a beeline to the office, finding Hongjoong at the desk, right where he guessed he’d be. Hongjoong turned at the sound of him entering and smiled at Seonghwa’s sleepy form. He immediately draped himself across Hongjoong’s shoulders, burying his nose in his neck and breathing his scent; coffee and fresh laundry.

“Long week?” Hongjoong asked.

“We’ll call it emotionally charged.” His lips tickled Hongjoong’s skin as he mumbled. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Hongjoong back to working on one of his tracks, content in the moment. “I thought Mingi was coming over today?”

“Um, yeah, in a few hours,” Hongjoong responded, surprised. “How’d you know?

“He was at the bakery a couple of days ago. He mentioned it.”

“He was out that way again? Everything ok?”

“Actually? I think Mingi is feeling better than he has in a while.” Seonghwa stood, pressing a kiss to the crown of Hongjoong’s head. “I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it tonight. How was therapy?”

“Hm, same as always. My shoulders going to be killing me tomorrow.”

“Want your heating pad?”

“Actually, yeah, thanks.” As Seonghwa grabbed the pad from the nearby armchair, Hongjoong stretched his arms out and cracked his knuckles. “Yeosang coming over tonight?”

“Mm, wine night.”

“Of course, it’s Saturday.” Hongjoong didn’t say more as the heating pad was wrapped around his neck and the controller placed in his hand. “…I got an email today.” His tone had changed. Seonghwa stopped, then perched himself on the edge of the desk so he could face his boyfriend.

“Everything ok?”

“…yeah.”

“Joong-ah, what’s wrong?”

“Well, nothing’s _wrong,_ really,” he stopped, rubbing his knees with firm hands. “It’s about a job.” Seonghwa’s brows shot up. Hongjoong hadn’t taken a job since the accident.

“Producing?”

“Yeah. A dance crew, they want something original for their competition season. Paying, too.”

“How’re you feeling about it?” Hongjoong took a deep, heavy breath.

“I’m not sure,” he said honestly. “It just feels…fast. And I know it really isn’t, it’s been months. And I don’t expect the world to stop and weep for me, that’s not…”

“I see,” Seonghwa smiled then. “You’re right, the world won’t stop for you or anyone else, no matter what happens. It just keeps turning. But, Joong-ah, you have every right to be upset by that. What’s the main thing psycho-therapy taught you?”

“Nothing I feel is invalid, even if it seems illogical,” he recited, the phrase having been drilled into him from day one of therapy. He still goes twice a month.

“Right,” Seonghwa approves. “I think this is a good thing. Music is your passion, and that big, beautiful, talented brain of yours is still the same as it was before all of this. I think getting back to work will be an easy step. And we don’t get a lot of easy steps in this.” He paused, then added softly, “But if you’re not ready, or you’re never ready, that’s ok, too.”

It went quiet as Hongjoong sat, trying to sort out his thoughts and emotions. This was usually how it went. Seonghwa would say his piece, then let Hongjoong’s brain do the work in figuring out what he wanted. Some minutes later, Hongjoong nodded.

“Yeah. I’m sick of my music just sitting on a computer going nowhere, anyways.” That, they both knew.

The sound of the door opening interrupted.

“Seonghwa-hyung! I brought chardonnay!” Seonghwa crinkled his nose.

“Ew, chardonnay?” The words were barely spoken when Kang Yeosang’s head poked through the door, bottle of the afore mentioned wine in hand.

“It was free; a gift from my last shoot. Besides, I knew you’d have red,” Yeosang snarked. “Hey, Hongjoong-hyung.”

“Hi, Yeosangie.” Hongjoong turned back to Seonghwa. “You two go, enjoy your night. Just send Mingi back to me when he gets here.” With one last peck on the cheek, Seonghwa followed his boyfriend’s orders, following Yeosang to the living room.

God, he needed a drink.

….

“He wanted to fuck me!”

“Ah…”

“To _fuck_ me, hyung!”

“I understand—”

“I don’t want a fuck buddy, hyung, I want to find _love!_ Like you and Hongjoong-hyung! But no one believes that! Why doesn’t anyone believe that?”

“Well, you’re a model. Everyone expects you to live the party life, different one-night-stands every week.” Seonghwa took another long sip of his wine. Between the two of them, the bottle was almost gone; luckily, another one was set to the side to open next. “Plus, I’ve seen you during shoots. That quiet, mysterious persona you put on doesn’t help.”

“I’m not mysterious! I’m just shy!”

“That’s not how if comes off, though. ‘Comes off more cold, chic.”

Yeosang tipped back the rest of his glass before flopping backwards onto the sofa, groaning.

“This is the curse of being born beautiful,” Yeosang muttered with his usual dramatic flair. Seonghwa snorted into his wine. “Anyway, enough of my problems. On to you.” He sat back up, reaching to pour himself a fresh glass. “A little birdie told me you had a rough week?”

“You continue to pretend that I don’t know you have Keonhee’s number.”

“Let me have my fun.” Yeosang leaned forward. “Seriously, hyung. Everything ok?” Seonghwa nodded, contemplative. “You and Hongjoong-hyung are ok, right?” Seonghwa smiled.

“Same as always,” he said truthfully, warmth filling his tone. “Hongjoong’s finally settling in with the new doctor. She acts more like a drill sergeant, to be honest, but I think that’s why he likes her. And the two of us, we’re still good. More than good, really.” Yeosang smiled back.

“That’s good, really good,” he replied earnestly. He paused thoughtfully, then continued. “You two…it’s crazy how perfect you are. Together, I mean. I know, in reality, you two faced a ton of road bumps since the accident, but to the outside world, it’s as if you just…took it in stride. Like it was easy for you. And I know it wasn’t, not really, and it’s still not…but I think that just goes to show what true love really looks like.” By the time he finished, Yeosang was bit misty eyed. Despite his chic façade, he had always been a hopeless romantic.

For a moment—just a moment—Seonghwa didn’t spoil the moment, didn’t tease Yeosang for the cheesy words. For once, he just sat and swirled his wine, basking in the knowledge that the rest of the world could see his love for his boyfriend. After all, it was something he was proud of. After allowing himself that time, he let the other shoe drop.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here,” Seonghwa prompted.

“But—” Yeosang continued, “How long has it been since you talked to someone about the things you’re feeling?”

“What, you mean a therapist?”

“Duh,” Yeosang deadpanned. “Seonghwa-hyung, you don’t live an easy life. You spend every waking moment worrying about Hongjoong-hyung, caring about him, caring _for_ him, working, taking care of the apartment, dealing with your family—” Yeosang only paused to breathe. “And I’m not saying you shouldn’t be doing any of that. But what I am saying is that facing all of that, day after day, it takes a toll on you. I know you feel it.” Seonghwa’s eyes dropped to the floor. He did feel it.

“Hyung, you almost lost the love of your life. You’ve seen your other half…you’ve seen him in _pieces_ , hyung, after the accident, after the surgeries. You can’t tell me that didn’t affect you, because I won’t believe you if you do. You need _help,_ professional help, to get you through all this!” Yeosang took a deep breath, obviously fighting tears and a racing heart as his emotions rose.

“Seonghwa-hyung,” he said, deathly serious. “You need to accept that Hongjoong-hyung wasn’t the only person affected by that day.”

Seonghwa sat, stunned. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard Yeosang talk so much, so emotionally amped. The words shot straight through his ribs to his heart, feeling it grow heavy.

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Seonghwa asked softly, still staring into his wine glass. Yeosang didn’t answer the question.

“Promise me, ok? Promise me you’ll start looking after yourself more?” Seonghwa sighed.

“We…can’t afford another doctor right now,” he admitted softly. “I mean, I can’t keep loaning from my parents forever, Joong and I, we have to start fig—”

“Then I’ll pay for it!” Yeosang snapped. “Call it an early Christmas gift, or your birthday presents for the next decade, I don’t care! Just…promise me you’ll at least look?” Seonghwa finally looked up at the cracking in Yeosang’s voice. Tears were starting to drip down his sharp cheeks, his full lips quivering. “If you don’t…if you don’t, I’ll tell your parents myself! Or even Hongjoong-hyung! I’m not above betrayal if it means—means you’ll be ok! Even if you hate me, I’m—I’ll—” Seonghwa was up and to the couch in an instant, taking Yeosang into his arms and pulling his face to his shoulder.

“Yeosangie,” he said gently. “I could never hate you, never. Not my little brother…I’ve really worried you, huh?” Yeosang nodded.

“Every week, you look more…spread thin. Tired,” Yeosang choked out. “I don’t want to see you…break.” Seonghwa nodded, stroking through his hair. “Promise me, hyung? Please?”

On the outside, to the eyes of the world, Yeosang was an astute example of near perfection, practically molded for the fashion industry. His sharp, round eyes and small face made him stand out in a crowd, fair skin shining, only broken up by soft, pink lips. He was gorgeous, sharp as a blade. It made for the perfect, snarky façade he needed to navigate the modeling world, appearing untouched and untouchable.

But the reality was that Yeosang was a sensitive soul, he always had been. Yeosang was a goofball, a romantic, and a crier. He loved cheesy dramas and cheap wine and greasy foods and dancing to no music. He was very much human, maybe more so than anyone Seonghwa had ever known.

Ever since the accident, Seonghwa had thanked the heavens time and time again for bringing Yeosang into his life, to be there by his side. He felt that even more now.

“…ok. I promise.”

….

When Seonghwa finally stumbled into their bedroom, face flushed and eyes hazy, Hongjoong had already taken his laptop to continue work in bed. He removed his headphones when Seonghwa fell, face first into the cushions.

Something inside Hongjoong loved seeing him like this, so clumsy and pliant when, any other time, he was the epitome of control and reason. Seonghwa was cute like this.

“You’re getting good at that,” Seonghwa mumbled. He waved toward Hongjoong’s wheelchair that still had the transfer board propped against it. Hongjoong just laughed, petting the hairs in the nape of his boyfriend’s neck. “How was recording? You two weren’t very loud.”

“Didn’t actually get any done. Ended up workshopping the bridge all night.” Seonghwa hummed. “Yeosangie?”

“Passed out on the sofa. Mingi? I didn’t see him leave.”

“Asleep on the office couch. How gone are you?”

“Oh, you should’ve seen me an hour ago. I’m practically sober now.” Hongjoong snorted, placing his laptop and headphones on the bedside table. Seonghwa looked up, a telling look in his eyes.

“What?” Hongjoong smiled, knowing exactly what was on his love’s mind.

Seonghwa hauled himself, a little unsteady, and threw a leg over Hongjoong’s hips to straddle them. Immediately, the air went hot and heavy, much like the look in Hongjoong’s eyes. Wasting absolutely no time, Seonghwa tangled his hands in Hongjoong’s hair and pulled him in for a bruising kiss.

It was all hot lips and teeth and tongue, meeting eagerly. God, it felt like it’s been years since they had this. Hongjoong arched off the headboard, gripping Seonghwa’s ass in an attempt to pull him closer. In his buzzed state, Seonghwa didn’t have the finesse Hongjoong did, and soon the latter’s hot tongue had him melting into a puddle.

Seonghwa moaned long and loud as he was kissed so thoroughly. He gripped the headboard over Hongjoong’s head, knuckles turning white at the force. Goosebumps raced across his skin as Hongjoong sucked and nipped at his bottom lip, his tongue following, taking what it wanted. Seonghwa grounded his hips down, finally pulling a sound out of his lover. Lips swollen, Hongjoong pulled back.

“Sit against the headboard for me,” he said, and Seonghwa sprang into action, shedding his shirt along the way. From there, they situated themselves so Seonghwa was sitting upright, and Hongjoong was laying on his stomach, eye level with Seonghwa’s navel. When his thin hands reached for Seonghwa’s jeans, the taller was more than happy to aid.

That hadn’t gone this far since the accident; typically, make-out sessions would end with a simple yet satisfying handjob. But, this, god, Seonghwa wanted to cum just from thinking about it.

The second Seonghwa’s cock was free, Hongjoong was swallowing it down, causing his boyfriend to throw his head back into the headboard with a loud _thud._ His mouth hung open, eyes rolling back as Hongjoong’s sinful tongue got to work. Every muscle in his torso clenched as pleasure rolled through his gut, his breath coming hot and fast.

“Fuck, Joong-ah, _fuck,_ so good—” his words were barely legible. “Fuck, s’been so long, love you so much, fuck—” Hongjoong hummed around his cock in response, hollowing his cheeks, swallowing around it. Seonghwa’s voice broke off into a moan again.

It went on like that for almost half an hour, Hongjoong edging his lover at least twice. Every swirl of his tongue, every bob of his head, had Seonghwa panting and begging, fingers gripping his hair hard enough to hurt. Finally, _finally,_ Hongjoong pulled off for a moment, jaw more than a little sore, and looked into Seonghwa’s teary eyes.

“Look at me, Hwa,” he said, voice husky. “Cum for me.” With that, Seonghwa got a perfect view of his boyfriend, taking the head of his cock in his mouth, sucking, cheeks hollowed, as he jerked the rest of the shaft.

He never stood a chance.

With a broken cry, Seonghwa came hard into Hongjoong’s mouth, the latter swallowing down everything his was given and milking him for more. Seonghwa was practically convulsing with pleasure, soft, trembling hands pushing his lover away with whispers of, “too much, too much.” Hongjoong took mercy on him, pulling off and up to kiss Seonghwa again. Both let out content sighs once their lips met.

“Four years together,” Seonghwa mumbled against Hongjoong’s mouth, “and that’s by far the best blowjob I’ve ever had.” They both giggled, high on endorphins like they were teenagers again. They were so in love.

“Here, let me,” Seonghwa whispered, kissing down Hongjoong’s neck as he gripped his hips to move him over. But Hongjoong took those hands in his, shaking his head.

“No, it’s late. We should sleep.”

“We don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow.”

“Hwa…”

“Joong-ah, please. ‘Wanna make you feel good—”

“Seonghwa, please.” At Hongjoong’s shift in tone, Seonghwa detached himself from his neck to see lover’s eyes had gone wide, not meeting his gaze. He looked…afraid. “I’m good. Really.”

Seonghwa’s hopes fell. The few times they’d been physical after the accident, Hongjoong always refused to let him reciprocate. With how eager Hongjoong had been tonight, and with the obvious tent in his pajama pants, Seonghwa had hope things would change. Evidently not.

Whatever it was, the fear stopping him, Seonghwa knew it was deep-seeded and stemming from the accident, since they’d been very sexually active before it with no issue. But Seonghwa loved Hongjoong, which, in this situation, meant two things: that Seonghwa would stop when told, without question, and that he’d wait for him. No matter how long it took.

He would wait for his love to come to him.

So, Seonghwa just smiled, thanked Hongjoong for the night, kissed him deep and slow, and helped him slide under the covers to adjust his lower body to his liking. He fetched the heating pad from the office, careful not to wake a snoring Mingi, and gently slid it beneath his dozing boyfriend.

Then, he slid under the blankets next to him, snuggling into his small chest, clinging to him, and allowed himself to dream.

Everything else, he could leave until tomorrow. Right now, this was what he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: after my injury, during my recovery, and ever since, I cannot live without a heating pad. 
> 
> So, meet Yeosang. We'll be seeing more of him before too long. Him and Seonghwa being wine buddies just...seemed to fit. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, and see ya'll next time


	5. San and Wooyoung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San's secret love is nothing new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy

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This is where San felt coziest; wrapped beneath at least three blankets, laying on his plush couch Jongho always complained was too soft. The heater was on, as it would be getting colder soon. He was dozing, the television playing some obscure home renovation show, just waiting for Netflix to be cued up once Wooyoung arrived.

Take out was ordered, since it was San’s turn to buy dinner, but Wooyoung had texted earlier saying he was bringing a surprise. Sweets, San hoped, maybe ice cream.

The door opened, announcing Wooyoung’s arrival since Jongho was out for the night, but San made no move to get up. He was far too cozy. He heard Wooyoung rustle around a bit in the kitchen before a warm body was dumped on top of his own, San groaning under the weight.

Wooyoung nuzzled into San’s shoulder, his hair whipping across San’s face and tickling his nose. Whatever sleep was going to find him was now gone, probably for the best since dinner was still on the way and they had a film to sit through.

“Wooyoung,” San grunted out under the weight. Wooyoung looked up, feeling the vibrations run through San’s chest against his own. San wiggled his hands, trapped beneath the blankets and his best friend. Wooyoung sat up, letting San follow, pulling his hands free so he could talk.

_“You’re heavy.”_

_“I am not! Jerk.”_

_“Are, too. Almost killed me.”_

_“You’re the worst.”_

San laughed, stretching his arms over his head before hauling himself to his feet. He made his way to the kitchen, feet dragging a bit across the tile, Wooyoung close behind him. There was a box sitting on the counter, obviously placed for San to spot.

_“Is it really hot chocolate time already?”_ San turned back to Wooyoung, who shrugged. _“It’s not very cold outside yet.”_

_“Tradition!”_ Wooyoung responded. _“It’s never too early for hot chocolate. Put the kettle on!”_ San caved fast, putting fresh water on the stove. San too a deep breath and motioned for Wooyoung to sit with him at the table.

_“Can we talk?”_ The mood dropped as Wooyoung sensed he change in tone.

_“Something serious?”_ He looked concerned.

_“Serious, but not bad,”_ San reassured him. Wooyoung waited, looking at him with those big, patient eyes San loved so much. He continued. _“I got the scholarship I had been working for. My last year will be a free ride, plus some.”_ Wooyoung looked excited, and San wondered if he’d cut in, but the former knew there’d be more, so he waited. _“I already talked to my parents, and…Jongho said long ago he didn’t want them…anyway, after paying off loans, we’ll have some left. If you want, we can put that money away and start saving up for cochlear. For you.”_ San inhaled deep. The weight of the offer felt much heavier than Wooyoung’s body draped over his had been. _“Would you want that?”_

Wooyoung just stared at him for a good while, not looking upset, but not terrible pleased either. He seemed to pass through every emotion, trying to find an answer for San, for himself. As the pause grew longer, the kettle slowly began to whistle, growing louder and louder until finally, San stood to take it off the stove.

That seemed to break whatever spell Wooyoung was under, whatever eating thoughts had been dragging him under. He stood after San, grabbing mugs and pouring some hot chocolate powder into each one. San poured the water, steam billowing from the tops. As they stood, silent, stirring their mugs, Wooyoung placed his gently on the counter. He looked up at San with a smile.

_“No. Thank you.”_

San looked at him, smiling back at that warm, understanding face. Wooyoung was so gorgeous. San’s heart fluttered.

“Ok,” he said aloud, nodding. He took a sip of the hot chocolate, still far too hot and scorching his tongue. Wooyoung smiled even wider, scooping up his own mug and heading to the couch to pick a movie. San watched his back as he went.

“I love you,” he said to Wooyoung’s back, the latter oblivious. “I’m so in love with you. But I’m not brave enough to make my hands say it. I’m sorry.”

A knock at the door—their takeout—stopped his unheard monologue, snapping San back to reality. He’d continue pouring his heat out to Jongho later, as per usual.

San wasn’t too broken up over it. After all, he’d been living with this for many, many years, and San knew all the tricks. He knew how to swallow down tears before they even formed or keep himself from blushing at any skin-ship they shared. He was the master of unrequited love.

He paid for the food, the smell of spice and grease filling the apartment. Wooyoung was nursing his mug from the couch, having picked a Disney movie. Remote in hand, he was adjusting the subtitles to be much larger, despite the fight it would cause with Jongho later on.

Putting their food on paper plates, balancing his mug as he goes, he plops down into the couch with the other, snuggling close and wrapping up in the rattiest blanket; it wouldn’t suffer as much if they drop food on it. They fill their bellies and bicker over the movies Wooyoung had selected until they were both warm and sleepy, entranced by the third Disney film in a row. 

The best part of movie night, by far, was Wooyoung’s laugh. He never laughed aloud, especially in public, unless it was Sunday night in San’s apartment. It was loud and squeaky, clear as a bell someone was aggressively ringing. It was the only place Wooyoung felt safe enough to so. It was San’s favorite thing.

The night ended with San carrying a sleeping Wooyoung to his bed as he waited up for Jongho to get in. He didn’t have to wait long, and soon his brother was stumbling through the door, followed by Soobin. The two had been out for food and indulged in a few drinks, if San guessed correctly.

San offered Soobin the couch, and they all sat in the living room for a bit, the youngest two munching on leftovers and nursing bottles of water.

“Movie night?” Jongho asked.

“Good,” San kept it short.

“Who with?” Soobin cut in, signing the important words so Jongho could keep up if he missed something.

“Wooyoung. It’s a tradition, every Sunday.”

“Oh…is it hard?”

“…no,” San didn’t see the point in playing dumb. “I’ve liked him for years. I’m used to it.” Soobin hummed. They sat in silence, only disturbed by Jongho shoving another bite of cold fried rice into his mouth.

“Have you ever tried moving on?” Soobin eventually asked. Jongho caught it, falling back with a loud groan, and San laughed a bit sadly.

“Jongho’s been trying that for years. I don’t think it’s fair be with someone else when, you know…” San explained, but Soobin was undeterred.

“What about Yeonjun and I?” Soobin asked. “Come hang out with us some! Even if you’re not out to find love, per say, being around other people, it should help, right?”

“He’s right, hyung,” Jongho cut in, desperate to see San make some progress in his love life. “You revolve your life around Wooyoung and I, you should go out without us more.”

“How about Tuesday?” Soobin offered, not wasting anytime. “Beomgyu will be over, and some of Yeonjun’s school friends. My little cousin Beomgyu’s age is coming, too. We’re just hanging out, maybe playing some games. Please, hyung?” Soobin took San’s arm, tugging cutely and smiling with those deep dimples. San could never resist dimples, despite his own.

“Ok, ok,” he sighed. “But please no blind dates, no set ups.”

Soobin was quick to agree.

San supposed it wasn’t the worst thing. Getting out would do him good, he couldn’t deny that. He had friends, being the energetic and friendly guy he was, but he was never one to get terribly close to people. He knew Jongho and Wooyoung were the reason for that, but it wasn’t their _fault._ No, it was San’s choice for it to be this way. But San liked Soobin and Yeonjun. Maybe, if he was going to open his life to anyone new, they’d be a good start?

He hated to admit it, but he did already feel a bit lighter, standing a bit taller. As they all turned in for the night and San snuggled into bed next to Wooyoung, he felt excited for Tuesday.

San knew he wouldn’t get over his love, at least, not any time soon. It had been too many years clinging to it, holding his best friend in his heart. And San was an expert at hiding it, living with it; the master of unrequited love.

But maybe, for the first time, he wouldn’t have to be.

At least for a bit.

He smiled, snuggling closer, excited for Tuesday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it. We've got some more fluff and some more a n g s t coming our way soon. 
> 
> Feel free to chat with me in the comments. I like making friends.


	6. Mingi and Yunho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing is ever perfect, until it is. And everything is always perfect, until it isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy

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“Hey, handsome. Aren’t you looking mighty fine with that shiny new cane?”

Mingi smiled and looked from where he was sitting, spotting Yunho’s blinding smile before he saw the rest of him. Mingi swore his heart wanted to leap from his chest.

“Like it?” Mingi asked, holding up his new cane that had replaced his crutch. _Only on good days,_ the doctor had said. “My hyung helped me paint it.” Well, plaster it with stickers and stripes of spray paint, but close enough.

“It’s great,” Yunho said, his eyes soft. Mingi melted at the sight of him, fair skin shining in the low light of the setting sun.

“Hey,” he said breathless. “I mean, hi, how’re you, how was your day?” He quickly tried to correct himself, before realizing he hadn’t made a mistake. He flushed red.

“Hi,” Yunho laughed. “I’m good, my day was good. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting?” In truth, Mingi had been waiting for twenty minutes, sitting by the Han River on a bench, filled with nervous energy, but that had only been his own fault; he’d arrived far too early. He shook his head furiously.

“No, no!” he stammered out. “Sorry, for all the nerves, just…” Mingi waved his hand as he trailed off.

“First date,” Yunho filled in, sitting next to Mingi on the bench.

_“Our_ first date,” Mingi elaborated, wringing his hands. Yunho took them in his hands, effectively stopping Mingi from rubbing them raw.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Everything’s going to be great.”

“I just want it to be perfect.”

“Well, it’s not going to be.” Mingi startled a bit, pouting at Yunho. “It’s true! No date is ever perfect! Something will happen, I’ll trip on my shoelace, you’ll spill your drink, or whatever. But none of that matters because nothing will ruin this night. Ok? No accident or problem is going to change anything, especially not the way I feel.” Yunho ran a hand softly over Mingi’s hair. “So, don’t let anything bother you. ‘Kay?”

Mingi did his best to take those words to heart, nodding with a thin smile and cuddling closer to Yunho. They sat together, watching as the light reflected and glittered off the surface of the river, the sun setting lower and lower. Finally, a loud growl from Yunho’s stomach signaled it was dinner time, and the two headed off.

Yunho surprised Mingi with their favorite place, the one they’d always talk about but could never afford during their early school years. It was delicious; ramen and a mound of grilled meat that left both of them full and happy.

Despite Yunho’s warning, everything so far seemed pretty perfect. They both still had the same, dumb sense of humor Mingi remembered, joking about everything and nothing. They talked about Yunho’s classes, and “why the hell do I need to take _two semesters_ of ballet?” They talked about Mingi’s music and “hyung is just _way_ too much of a perfectionist.” And back and forth until both were laughing with tears in their eyes.

Before long, Yunho was dropping Mingi off at his apartment. The latter had begun to slow down as the night progressed, upper body tired and aching from the stress his new cane put on it. He could feel some muscles starting to cramp, but the smile Yunho gave him as he helped him walk was more than worth it.

Once they reached Mingi’s front door, however, they both hesitated.

“Thank you. For everything,” Mingi said, head dropped shyly. “Next meal is on me.”

“Mm,” Yunho agreed easily, but Mingi wasn’t convince Yunho would actually allow it next time they went out. Still, he only shook his head and giggled. They both fell silent, not knowing what to say.

“Yunho,” Mingi finally spoke softly, not meeting his eye. “I don’t want you to leave yet.” He heard Yunho inhale sharply, but Mingi didn’t let himself stop, lest he lose his bravery. “Would you like to come in?”

“…yeah,” Yunho breathed. “I don’t think I’m ready to go yet, either.” Time froze and hung in the air for a moment as they looked at each other. Mingi broke the spell, turning to unlock the door before the tension broke. The last thing he needed was a complaint from his neighbors of him making out with a man in the hallway.

He could almost feel the heat of Yunho’s body against his back as he fumbled with the key, finally getting it open. Yunho reached around him, holding the door open for Mingi as he readjusted his cane, making his way through the door.

They’d barely toed off their shoes when Yunho was spinning him, pushing him against the wall with firm but gentle hands. Mingi’s heart leapt to his throat, pounding in his ears as his body flushed with heat, his cane falling to the floor with a thud. Yunho stepped closer immediately, so close Mingi could see himself in the reflection of his dark eyes. Their noses were brushing, hot breaths mingling.

“Are we on the same page?” Yunho asked before he went any further. Mingi let out a shaky breath, snaking his arms around the taller’s neck to help keep himself steady. He nodded, his eyes half closed and chin tilting up, offering.

Yunho took the offer with earnest, swooping in and pressing his soft lips to Mingi’s. Yunho’s hand slid down his side and gripped Mingi’s hip, his good one on the left, and pulled him closer, rubbing circles with his thumb. His mouth was hot, moving with a slow passion that set Mingi’s nerves on fire.

It was a give and take, lips meeting in sync after a few false starts, tongues flicking against each other almost playfully. They parted for a split second, and just as Mingi was about to dive back in, Yunho leaned down and swept him off his feet, into his arms. Mingi wasn’t ashamed to say he squealed.

“Yah! Jeong Yunho!” The mentioned only laughed as he carried Mingi into his apartment. “My cane!” Mingi protested weakly.

“I’ll get it later,” Yunho dismissed. “Or I could just carry you everywhere.” He leaned down, nuzzling Mingi’s hair as they reached the couch. Yunho set him down with such care, such love, Mingi wanted to cry. Again.

It only lasted for a moment, then Yunho was straddling his thighs, gripping the back of the couch behind Mingi, trapping him between strong, thick arms. He leaned in, connecting their lips again.

Mingi felt absolutely dwarfed, Yunho’s broad, muscled frame almost covering him completely; god, it was hot. Mingi moaned into Yunho’s mouth, fingers tangling in his hair and pulling as Yunho kissed the life out of him. It was passionate, picking up speed as they both felt their bodies growing hotter.

It was when Yunho’s hands reached for Mingi’s shirt, dragging it up his torso, that Mingi pulled away and grabbed his wrists.

“Wait, wait,” he gasped, breathless and flushed. Yunho snapped back to himself, removing his hands and throwing himself off Mingi’s lap in an instant.

“What, what is it? Are you ok? What’s wrong?” Yunho asked quickly, cheeks red and eyes hazy. Of course he’d stop right away, of course he’d be worried about hurting him. Because Yunho was so perfect, so caring and soft, and how the fuck did Mingi get so lucky?

“No, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Mingi whispered. “I just…I haven’t been with anyone…since.” Yunho blinked.

“Oh, ok,” he said. “We can stop here? If you wanted, we—”

“No!” Mingi cut him off. “I—I want more. I want you, I just—I don’t know what my body will do, or how I’ll feel or—so I—”

“Hey, hey, it’s ok,” Yunho shushed him softly, running a hand through his hair. “Calm down, you’re perfect. If you want, we can take this slow? Step by step? We can learn about your body together.”

Mingi looked down. The thought of his body reacting negatively to sex then dealing with the aftermath was terrifying.

“Mingi-ah.” He looked up at Yunho. “Just tell what feels good, and what doesn’t…ok?” Yes, he could do that. So, he nodded and leaned back again, putting himself in Yunho’s capable hands.

Yunho immediately got to work, kissing and nipping at Mingi’s neck as his hands wandered. They found his shirt again, lifting it to reveal pale skin and a flat torso.

Slowly, deliberately, Yunho’s mouth made its way down his body, kissing at the flesh until Mingi was sure there wasn’t an inch left untouched. He moaned at the thought of his whole body, marked up by Yunho.

“Good?”

“Mm, good.”

Every move Yunho made the entire time was completely for Mingi’s pleasure, focused totally on finding which spots produced the loudest sounds. When Yunho was opening Mingi’s jeans, finally pulling his cock free, every touch was like a lightening strike.

The initial slide of his cock against Yunho’s tongue was enough to make Mingi’s eyes roll into his head. It was good, so good. Yunho was sinful in how his tongue moved, cheeks hollowed as if trying to suck out Mingi’s soul.

Everything was wonderful until Yunho reached up, pinching a nipple between his finger and thumb, causing Mingi to arch his back and keen in pleasure.

Immediately, every muscle on the right of his torso tightened and cramped.

“Ow, _ah!_ Ow, ow!” Mingi cried, pushing Yunho’s head away. The latter shot up, eyes wide as Mingi curled in against the pain.

“What’s wrong, what’s wrong?” Yunho kept asking, but Mingi could barely breath, his face scrunched in pain. Mingi’s hands went to his side and Yunho seemed to get the gist, his large hands finding flesh and gently massaging what he could.

Mingi was gasping, trying and failing to level out his breathing and ride out the pain. Yunho’s hands were working magic though, kneading the muscles, encouraging them to relax.

It took a good ten minutes, to the point where Mingi was sure Yunho’s hands must be cramping as well. He was able to reign in his lungs, forcing breath into his right side. Eventually, most of the pain faded, leaving an uncomfortable tightness in its place.

“I’m ok,” Mingi whispered, grabbing Yunho’s hands and pushing them away. He wouldn’t meet his eyes. Mingi sat up, carefully stretching out his torso, trying to get rid of that last bit of pain lingering.

“I’m sorry,” Yunho said, trying to get Mingi to meet his gaze. “I said we’d go slow, then I—ah. I pushed your body too far, already.”

“It’s not your fault,” Mingi immediately contradicted. “Using the cane, it makes them…” Mingi didn’t finished the thought; Yunho didn’t need a medical lesson right now. “Besides. We’re learning together…remember?” Mingi finally granted Yunho’s unspoken wish and met his eye. They both giggled softly, feeling lighter. “Have I, um…totally ruined the mood?”

Yunho’s eyes lit up again, grinning until his white teeth gleamed in the low light. Mingi leaned in, kissing that smile with his own.

They were moving soft and slow against one another, a stark contrast to earlier. The pace stayed the same, warm and sensual and perfect, even when Yunho took Mingi’s cock in his hand and began to stroke, lips never leaving.

It was relaxed, but not lazy, and Yunho was just as attentive as before. It wasn’t long before Mingi was spilling into his fist, moaning as their tongues intertwined. It was simple, but so much more than Mingi could ever hope for.

Yunho hopped up, tracking down some paper towels from the kitchen and returned to wipe them both clean. Mingi gave him a grateful smile.

“Lay back,” Mingi demanded suddenly, grabbing the soiled paper towels and throwing them somewhere that wasn’t there. Yunho looked surprised.

“Oh, I’m ok, Mingi, you don’t have—”

“Yunho-ah, _lay back.”_ This time he received no resistance, placing a hand in the center of Yunho’s chest and pressing him back into the arm of the couch. Mingi grabbed at his shirt. “Off.” Yunho scrambled to comply as Mingi got to work on his pants, pulling them off his hips, revealing Yunho’s more-than-enthusiastic cock.

He looked up at Yunho through his lashes, getting himself in a comfortable position as the offending shirt is finally wrestled away, Yunho accidentally whacking Mingi on the forehead trying to throw it. They both burst out laughing, Yunho cradling his head and giggling out apologies that where quickly stifled as Mingi dipped down and swallowed his cock.

He kept it slow, trying desperately to remember everything he learned his first year of college. _Lick, suck, swirl, swallow, repeat._ It seemed to be working, Yunho running his hands through Mingi’s hair, whispering words of encouragement and praise, calling him beautiful, amazing, perfect.

Mingi got lost in the rhythm, heart swelling with the thought that he was bringing Yunho such pleasure. He was at it for a quite a while when Yunho pulled him off.

“Pull up, baby, ‘m gonna cum,” he mumbled out, tugging Mingi up and connecting their lips again, tongue eager and greedy. He gripped his own cock, stroking himself as he grunted into Mingi’s mouth, as if trying to surround himself with the other. Mingi did what he could, stroking and grabbing, until Yunho gasped loud, cum splashing between their bodies.

Mingi lavished at Yunho’s neck as he came down from his high until Yunho was giggling, pulling Mingi closer. They were both feeling a bit bubbly, high off lust and sex. Yunho grabbed Mingi’s face, cradling it, moving him from his neck.

“You happy?” he asked, and Mingi nodded. Of course, he was happy. Yunho patted Mingi’s butt. “Roll over, babe, we need more paper towels.” _Babe._ God, Mingi wasn’t sure if it was the earlier orgasm or the pet name, but he felt like a puddle of goo.

Yunho cleaned them for a second time, sweeping Mingi off the couch and into his arms again.

“Yah, Yunho!”

“Bedroom?”

“Get me my cane, I can walk!”

“And I can carry you.”

“Not there, that’s the bathroom!”

“Then be my GPS!”

“To the right, the door down the hall!”

“Mm, such a cute GPS.”

If such a silly statement made Mingi snuggle closer into Yunho’s chest with a giddy smile, then no one needed to know.

They spent the night snuggled close in Mingi’s too-small bed, Yunho’s feet dangling off the end. They spent hours whispering to each other, giggling, one waking the other with a kiss every time they dozed; soon, they were both too tired to speak. Yunho feel asleep first, holding Mingi tight to his chest, his nose buried in his hair. Mingi wasn’t far behind.

Everything was perfect. Surely, it would stay as such.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some fluff before we kick this into high gear. Hope you liked it!
> 
> We'll be checking in with someone new soon, so stay tuned. 
> 
> As always, feel free to chat with me in the comments! Until next time


	7. Jongho and Yeosang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeosang is looking for love, and Jongho never expects to find it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy

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The café was beautiful on days like this.

Gold light streamed through the window, lighting the rush of patrons there for their afternoon coffee. The smell of fresh baking was mixing with the smell of autumn that had started to fall upon Seoul. It was a lovely day, and the café was alive with energy.

None of this, however, helped that fact that Jongho’s coffee cup had long since been emptied and that, no matter how hard he glared at his laptop, his essay was _not_ writing itself. Jongho sighed.

He’d been there for the better part of two hours, venturing through the city alone today in hopes of encouraging San to do the same. It helped, being able to focus without his brother’s distractions, but his brain was stuck and nothing productive could be done.

Jongho rubbed his temples. Maybe he needed a fresh coffee.

Just as he considered ordering something new, despite the possibility of losing his seat, movement to the left caught his eye. Looking up, he found a man not much older than himself had approached.

“…if I sit?” Jongho caught the tail end of the stranger’s question. Jongho stared into earnest eyes, large and clear, sitting above sharp cheeks and pink lips. His hair was long and wavy, dyed a cool, ashy blonde, catching the light from the window and lighting up like stands of gold. Jongho managed a nod, motioning to the seat. The stranger smiled, and Jongho’s heart clenched.

Oh, wow. He was stunning.

The man sat, and Jongho did his best to return attention to his essay, trying not to glance at his new companion, sitting there in all his alien beauty.

When he did sneak a look, however, the man was leaning away, eyes down and shaking his head, murmuring what looked like an apology. He had asked something Jongho didn’t see.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Jongho asked, paying special attention to his articulation. The man shook his head again.

“No…sorry…I don’t mean to bother,” he said, Jongho only catching bits and pieces. “You’re busy.” Jongho shook his head. 

“No, you don’t understand,” Jongho smiled, hoping it would put the man at ease. “I’m deaf.” Jongho motioned to his ears, eyes soft as the poor man’s expression went through every emotion before settling on horrified.

“I’m _so_ sorry, I didn’t realize!”

“It’s alright.”

“I mean, I really should be more sensitive to…” The stranger continued, but had dropped his gaze again, making it hard for Jongho to see his lips moving.

“Hey, it’s really alright,” Jongho tried to calm him. The stranger stopped, looking back at him with a pout set on his lips. “I’m Choi Jongho. Now, what was it you said before?” The man gave a grateful smile.

“Kang Yeosang,” he introduced himself, lips moving carefully. “Ah, it was nothing. Something boring to start a conversation.” Yeosang blushed prettily.

“Well, I’m grateful,” Jongho said. “I needed a break anyway.” He closed his laptop, furthering his point.

“I’m sorry if this is, um…” Yeosang trailed off. “But talking…”

“I speak well?” Jongho filled in. It was nothing new, and typically the follow up during conversations. Yeosang nodded.

“I don’t think I’d ever know,” he agreed. “And…are you reading my lips?”

Jongho smiled and nodded.

“Woah,” Yeosang’s eyes grew wide, and Jongho couldn’t help but feel a bit proud.

“It’s never one-hundred percent, I get things wrong all the time—so please excuse me if I ask you to repeat something every now and then—but I can be independent this way. As for my speech, I lost my hearing when I was eight, so I could already speak fine. Muscle memory, and all.”

“That’s amazing. Seriously, that’s amazing!” Yeosang looked like he meant it, eyes sparkling in awe, making Jongho’s cheeks go a bit warm. “So, what do you do? Like, for a living?”

“I’m still a student. Not sure where I’m going yet,” he answered. “What about you?”

“I would be a student, but I started working after grade school,” said Yeosang. “I, um…I work as a model.”

“I’m sorry?”

“A model, I work as a model.” Jongho didn’t respond for a moment, before shaking his head and laughing. “What, what’s funny?”

“That just…fits you,” Jongho dismissed. Yeosang smiled bright. “And seems hard. That world seems…rough.”

“Oh, don’t get me started! I try to stay away from all the drama but the _egos—”_

It went on like this for some time, Jongho more than happy to stare at Yeosang’s perfect lips, very aware of the lack of progress being made on his essay. He hung onto every word, eyes laser focused as not to miss a single detail.

After a while, Yeosang managed to catch himself.

“Oh, I’ve been going on and I talk so fast, I probably—”

“No, it’s been great practice! And I haven’t missed a word, I promise.”

“But you had work to do and it’s getting late—”

“Yeosang-ssi,” Jongho interrupted gently. “Please, don’t worry so much. Though…I do need to get going soon. My brother will worry.”

Another cute blush lit up Yeosang’s nose.

“Yes, um, of course,” he giggled, looking down into his untouched drink. “I just—I’ve really been talking your ear off, and I did—” His head shot up, realizing just what he said, turning even redder and looking horrified.

Everything froze for a moment, Yeosang looking like he wanted to disappear, until Jongho burst out laughing. He couldn’t help it, but it did seem to put Yeosang back at ease, even chuckling out his apologies.

“But, I’ve really enjoyed speaking with you,” Jongho continued the conversation, reigning himself back in.

“Well,” Yeosang drew out. “How about I let you call me hyung and in exchange…maybe your number? Or a date sometime this week?”

Just like that, everything came to a screeching halt. Jongho’s jaw dropped.

“Sorry, say that again?” Just to be sure.

Yeosang repeated himself, shier this time. Nope, Jongho had read right the first time.

“Oh,” he said wide-eyed. “I didn’t realize…you’d want to see me again. Much less be… _interested,_ I guess.” People usually don’t, or aren’t, Jongho didn’t say out loud.

“Well, I am. Very interested,” Yeosang shot back. “It’s not often that the cutest guy in the room is also a total sweetheart.” _He thinks I’m cute?_

“Well, I think you’re pretty amazing, so I would…love to go out with you.”

And go out they did; the following night, in fact.

Why someone like Yeosang—that is perfect, beautiful, funny, successful—wanted to go out with an average-looking deaf student was beyond Jongho’s comprehension, but that didn’t stop him from having a great time.

They went to a slammed arcade-and-grill which Yeosang had a hook-up to, laughing the night away with greasy fries, huge milkshakes, and round after round of air hockey.

“How are you so _strong?_ My god, you could break me in half if you wanted!

“Please, these punch things are never really accurate.”

“Then let’s arm wrestle. Come on, right now, let’s go, arm wrestle!”

What impressed Jongho the most was how quickly Yeosang adapted to Jongho’s needs. He’d gently tap Jongho’s hand to get his attention before speaking, letting him know when the waitress had appeared so Jongho could ask for anything he needed, he never spoke too fast or unbearably slow, and he never, ever tried to speak _for_ Jongho. Yeosang never minded when Jongho asked him to repeat something or when Jongho’s volume went too loud or soft.

“So, you’ve really done _boudoir_ shoots?”

“It was Calvin Klein, hardly lingerie! Besides, I’m a confident man.” 

Once it was late and Jongho was walking Yeosang back to his apartment, he could swear he was floating. They couldn’t speak at since they needed to keep their eyes ahead and not risk tripping over anything. But Yeosang did weave his hand into in Jongho’s elbow, which filled Jongho’s chest with fluff.

They arrived at Yeosang’s building—which was very nice—and made their way up to Yeosang’s apartment—which was _very_ nice—and he stopped, turning to face Jongho, not even making a move for his keys.

“I had a nice time. Like, a really nice time,” Yeosang said slowly, like he was choosing the right words. “This might have been the best date I’ve ever had.” Jongho’s cheeks went hot.

“Me, too,” Jongho said. “You’re…wow. I mean, would you…like to do this again? Soon? Or…whenever?” Yeosang giggled and nodded vigorously.

“I’ll call!” he exclaimed, then his face fell. “I…will not call. I’ll text.” Jongho was laughing again, clutching his stomach with tears in his eyes. “Stop laughing at me! I’m trying!”

“I know, I know, and trust me, it’s lovely, you’re lovely,” Jongho laughed out. “But it is also hilarious.” Yeosang pouted.

“Jongho,” Yeosang said softly. “We both should get going but…kiss me first.”

Suddenly, Jongho’s heart was in his throat and his body froze.

“Really?”

“Really.”

It only took a second of Jongho not moving, but once that second passed Jongho grabbed Yeosang’s hips and pulled him flush against him. Yeosang gasped, gaze going low and half-lidded. He snaked his arms around Jongho’s neck, slowly pulling him down until their lips met gently.

It was Jongho’s first kiss; it was warm and soft, lips moving against each other once, twice, before they parted. They didn’t move far away. Hearts full, they smiled, Jongho backing away in stutters, not really sure what to do.

“Um, I should—that was—I’ll let—”

“Yeah, I should let you go before I can’t take it anymore. And I drag you inside with me.”

Jongho’s heart was going to leap out of his chest at the look Yeosang gave him. He felt like his body was on fire, but instead of grabbing Yeosang and pinning him against the door like he wanted, he blurted out a “text you later!” and turned to flee.

A smile was stuck on both their faces.

….

Jongho hauled himself into the apartment and straight to the couch, throwing himself down while completely ignoring his older brother. San had been sitting on the chair waiting for him and was practically vibrating in excitement. 

The instant Jongho’s body hit the cushions, San was on top of him, crushing his exhausted little brother, forcing him to see him what he was signing.

_“How did it go? Was he nice? Did you kiss? Tell me everything.”_

_“Get off,”_ Jongho signed. His voice was tired; he hadn’t talked so much in one day in a long time. San slid off to sit next to him, pulling Jongho’s head into his lap and played with his hair. _“It was amazing. Really. He’s amazing. And beautiful, so beautiful. And he’s funny and amazing.”_

_“It sounds very…amazing.”_

Jongho took a long pause, eyes going far away as his mind spiraled. Things he’d been wondering since he met Yeosang were suddenly much more prevalent than they were before. Noticing his brother’s shift in mood, San ran a hand through his hair again, soothingly.

_“What are you thinking about?”_

Jongho didn’t answer right away.

_“Everything,”_ he eventually came up with. _“All of this. He was really serious about dating me, he was seriously interested! I guess I just…never thought that was an option for me. I had always assumed it wasn’t. And I know it’s only been one date, but this is really about…anyone. Could it ever really work? Especially with him? He’s so perfect, and I’m so…not.”_

_“But that’s not the root of this, is it?”_

_“…he’s hearing. And I’m not. I’m deaf.”_

_“But you said he was amazing,”_ San cut in. _“Meaning he was not an ableist asshole?”_

_“Farthest thing from it. He was so understanding.”_

_“Then don’t assume the worst!”_ San exclaimed, hands picking up speed as he got emotional. _“Jongho, you are perfect, just the way you are, and you deserved to be loved! Let yourself be! If it works out, it works out. If not, we cry, pick up the pieces, and move on.”_ San moved his hands to Jongho’s cheeks, giving them a squish, before letting go. _“And your big brother will be right here, always. Ok?”_

Jongho wanted to agree and be done with the conversation, but there was something else. Jongho blushed, looking away.

_“San-hyung, I’ve never done this before,”_ Jongho admitted, not meeting his brother’s eye. _“I’m a virgin, I’ve never dated or kissed…I don’t want to ruin this. I’m scared I might.”_

_“You won’t,”_ San responded immediately. _“Step by step. If he’s understanding, he’ll help you, not hurt you.”_ Right, Yeosang was kind. He wouldn’t be cruel just because Jongho was a virgin.

Jongho nodded, turning and snuggling into his hyung’s stomach, wrapping his arms around his thin waist. He smelled like fresh laundry and that lavender bodywash he liked. San pulled him even closer.

His brother spoke, Jongho feeling the vibrations through his torso. Three syllables, and his finger traced a shape into Jongho’s shoulder where it sat; a heart. Jongho smiled.

“I love you, too, hyung.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, rant time. 
> 
> ATEEZ is an even numbered group, which means when fanfictions or "shipping" is involved, there's no fifth/seventh/ninth/etc. wheel, i.e. that one member that there's no one left to ship them with. And I appreciate that. What I do not appreciate is how, more often than not, Jongho and Yeosang--arguably the quietest and least popular members--are often thrown together because they're the only ones left. I get it; Hongjoong and Seonghwa are the "parents," Yunho and Mingi are touchy-touchy, and WooSan is...WooSan. I followed the same formula. But I actually like Jongho and Yeosang as a couple, so I wanted to take the time to build their relationship, give them chemistry, and tell the story of them falling in love. I didn't want to gloss over them as I feel so often happens.
> 
> Also, I'm generalizing here. I know there are some great fanfictions/fanfiction writers out there that have written entire stories based on this couple, or given them some really great character arcs and development. Hell, they're the ones that inspired me to write this. 
> 
> Anyway, rant over. Finally, everyone knows everyone. Almost...👀 We'll be diving into conflict soon. But I hope you're enjoying!
> 
> Till next time. Feel free to chat with me in the comments!


	8. Seonghwa and Hongjoong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise guest reminds them that communication is the foundation of all relationships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy

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The knock on the door seemed a welcome interruption to his cleaning. The chemical lemon smell was starting to become the only thing Seonghwa could process, all his other senses shut off from the hours and hours of scrub, sweep, vacuum, repeat.

With Hongjoong busy at his laptop, it was Seonghwa’s only pastime on his days off, at least until Yeosang barged in with a new bottle of wine and a story to tell.

He answered the door in a timely manner, freezing when he saw who was on the other side.

“Hyung,” Seonghwa breathed with wide eyes.

“Seonghwa,” Eden—also known as Kim Yonghwan—answered, still scowling. “Nice to see the sensible one still remembers my name. Now, where is that kid? I’m here to rip his head off.”

Eden, usually an even-tempered man, brushed past Seonghwa, kicking off his shoes and marching into the living room. Seonghwa didn’t move for a breath, then turned and rushed after him, door slamming shut behind them.

“I spend six months abroad,” Eden continues, “and halfway through, what, the kid’s done with me? What ever happened to _you’re such a great mentor_ and _I look up to you so much?_ Tch, where is that punk?”

“Eden-hyung,” Seonghwa tried. “You haven’t heard from Hongjoong?”

“Nothing for months, Seonghwa,” Eden ran a hand through his long hair. “Kid had me worried out of my mind. It’s not like him.”

“Hyung,” Seonghwa started, but soon devolved into a sigh. Where should he even start? Did Hongjoong not tell Eden anything at all?

“Sorry, hyung,” Seonghwa said softly. “I’m trying to figure out…how to say this. I didn’t know he wasn’t talking to you.” He paused. “A lot has happened.”

“Are you two ok?” Eden asked, calming down and catching the severity of Seonghwa’s tone. “You’re still together, right—”

“Yes, no, nothing like that,” Seonghwa said quickly. “Hongjoong and I are fine.”

“Is he ok?”

Seonghwa didn’t have an answer, measuring the weight of the question, feeling it heavy in his heart. He looked down, brow furrowed, before finally taking a deep breath, inhaling that same chemical lemon smell.

“Hyung, do you mind waiting for a bit? I’ll be right back to fix you some tea or coffee.” Eden didn’t speak for a moment before he met Seonghwa’s eye.

“You two finally get a coffee machine?” Seonghwa nodded. “I’ll fix some myself. Take your time.” Seonghwa bowed his head in thanks and headed down the hallway to the office.

Hongjoong sat, music blasting through his headphones, hunched over a notepad scribbling. It must be a lyrics day. Seonghwa approached carefully, trying not to spook him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. Hongjoong snapped from his zone, taking off the headphones and smiling up at Seonghwa.

“Joong-ah, you have a visitor,” Seonghwa said cautiously. Hongjoong didn’t catch on at first.

“Oh, did Mingi show up?”

“Not quite.” Seonghwa bit his lip. “Eden-hyung is here.” Hongjoong froze. “He said you haven’t talked to him for months. He…doesn’t know.” Hongjoong sighed, shaking his head.

“No, he doesn’t.”

Silence.

“What do you want to do?”

“I guess I should go talk to him,” Hongjoong grimaced.

“Not if you don’t want.”

“I can’t hide this time, Hwa. Hyung will tear Seoul apart until he gets answers.” Seonghwa nodded; that, he agreed with. Eden was a kind, hardworking man, but his soft appearance was often deceiving. He was as stubborn as Hongjoong.

Seonghwa went back to the living room first, Hongjoong pushing his wheelchair after him.

Eden looked up at their arrival, Seonghwa moving to the side to reveal Hongjoong.

Eden’s eyes widen.

For a while, no one moved or spoke, until Eden shuffled forward. He silently held out a mug of coffee to Hongjoong, who took it after a breath of hesitation.

“Still take black, extra sugar?”

Hongjoong nodded. Seonghwa left to give them some privacy. Eden sat.

The two drank their coffee for a while.

“You finally got a coffee maker.”

“’Better than the corner store. Plus, saves money in the long run.”

“I’ve been telling you that.”

“…yeah, you have.”

A pause.

“What happened?”

“Car accident.”

“You were driving?”

“No, it was more like me versus the car.”

“…hope you got a few good swings it.”

“Oh, yeah. Bastard didn’t know what hit it.” Hongjoong was smiling.

“Is it permanent?”

“…yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Hongjoong-ah.”

“Me, too. I’m sorry I never picked up your calls. Or your messages…or your emails.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Eden leaned forward. Hongjoong shook his head, eyes on his mug.

“I don’t know, I was ashamed? Embarrassed? Stubborn? Take your pick.” He set his coffee on the table, pushing himself to a better spot. “Guess I just—I didn’t want you to see this.”

“And music?”

“I’ve been making more than I ever have. But it all just sits there, on my laptop, not going anywhere.”

“Not even SoundCloud? Come on, Hongjoong.”

“I know, I know. Look, I just took my first job since the accident. Small gig, set for a dance crew.”

“Paying?”

“Mm.”

“Good,” Eden shifted closer. “Then what about getting back to the real world? Producing somewhere other than your apartment, with people other than yourself?”

“I can’t, hyung, you know that.”

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

“No one would ever want to work with me,” Hongjoong shot back. “I’d be a liability, I’d slow down the process, and so on. That world is fast paced and cutthroat, and no one is going to bother with a crippled producer.”

“Bullshit,” Eden said sharply. “That’s a shitty excuse and you know it. Because you know as well as I do, as long as what you make is good and worth the money, you could be crippled or blind or only have one arm and no one would care.” Eden looked at Hongjoong, eyes on fire. “You have to show them your talent is worth the trouble, just like everyone else.”

“Hyung—”

“And last I checked,” Eden cut him off, “your talent was more than worth it. So, unless your music’s turned to shit these last few months, there’s nothing holding you back. And guess what? If there are people looking down on you, thinking you’re too much of a liability to work with, you sitting here pouting is only proving them right.”

Hongjoong didn’t answer.

“When I came back to Seoul, before I ever left really, I was planning on offering you a job,” Eden said, tone softening. “I want you on my team, Hongjoong-ah. Where I go, you go, working directly under me on almost everything I produce. Mostly for companies, idol stuff. Show me what you’ve been making on that laptop, and if I like what I hear, the offer’s still there.”

For a long while, Hongjoong didn’t move, until he grabbed his mug, took a large swig of his coffee, and turned to get his laptop. Once he was gone, Seonghwa stuck his head back into the living room.

“I’ve never heard you so harsh with him,” Seonghwa said, clearing Hongjoong’s mug to refill it with fresh coffee.

“I know you, Seonghwa,” Eden said honestly. “And I know you’ve probably been nice and supportive through these months. But whatever you’ve said wasn’t breaking through to him, so I thought it was time for another approach.”

“I hope you’re right,” Seonghwa said, before Hongjoong returned with his laptop and launchpad in tow.

The two sat for hours in the living room, Seonghwa dancing around them while he cleaned and cooked dinner. They discussed and workshopped almost every track Hongjoong had cooked up the past few months, making changes here and there.

By the time they’d eaten, talked, and bid Eden goodnight, Hongjoong had a new job beginning the following month.

“Thanks, hyung,” Hongjoong said as Eden was headed out the door. The older looked back.

“Don’t thank me, just work hard.”

“Not for the job,” Hongjoong backtracked. “Well, yes, for the job, but…for what you said.” Eden paused, then sighed.

“Sorry I was so hard on you.”

“I needed to hear it.”

“Yeah…yeah, you did.” Eden turned, waving off Hongjoong. “See you tomorrow. Don’t be late.” The door shut, leaving the apartment peaceful once again.

Hongjoong returned to the living room, Seonghwa dropped onto the couch after clearing the dishes from dinner and their mugs of long-cold coffee; he seemed to melt into the cushions, stress from the day finally fading.

The warm, yellow fluorescent light made his fair skin glow, looking radiant and soft. Leave it to Seonghwa to make such a menial scene positively angelic. Hongjoong smiled.

“Hey,” he said, holding out his arms and reaching for his boyfriend like a toddler. “Put me in your lap?”

Seonghwa’s eyes lit up, wasting no time sweeping Hongjoong from his chair and plopping back down, snuggling him close. Hongjoong took a long breath, nose pressed into Seonghwa’s hair.

For a long while, they just sat like that, enjoying each other’s arms, each other’s presence.

“I want to tell you something,” Hongjoong whispered into Seonghwa’s hair. “In the spirit of, you know, growing a pair and moving on?” Seonghwa pressed a long kiss into the skin of Hongjoong’s neck before pulling away.

“Everything ok?”

“Yeah, just…words suck, so…” Hongjoong stalled.

“You don’t have to tonight,” Seonghwa said gently. “A _lot_ happened today, Joong-ah. If you’re tired…”

“It’s about our sex life,” Hongjoong blurted out. “Or lack thereof.”

Seonghwa instantly shut up, giving Hongjoong the space to speak. It took a moment before he continued.

“I know you’ve noticed. That—That I don’t let you,” he fumbled, then sighed in frustration. Hongjoong slid off Seonghwa’s lap, moving his legs to sit next to him. “I don’t let you touch me.”

Seonghwa nodded.

“Well…” Hongjoong started. “I just, I’ve kept you in the dark. I shut you down instead of telling you what’s wrong. And that’s, that’s not fair. To you. I need to tell you what the deal is. You know, communication. I, it’s… _fuck,_ I can’t even say it!” He gripped his hair, pulling in turmoil, Seonghwa rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“I don’t have any feeling in my penis.”

Seonghwa stopped, eyebrows shooting up.

The stunned silence lasted a few seconds.

“Oh,” Seonghwa found his voice. “That’s…not what I thought you were going to say.”

“Yeah, well,” Hongjoong waved off, face red and eyes cast down. “That’s why.”

“Hey,” Seonghwa took Hongjoong’s face in his hands, turning his head toward him. “I’m listening. So, talk to me, ok?” Hongjoong bit his lip and hesitated before the dam broke.

“I’ve only masturbated twice since the accident,” he spoke fast. “Once just jerking off, the other fingering myself. Just to…see. There’s almost no sensation on my dick no matter what I tried. I asked the doc, and he said it was more blunt force trauma related than the spinal injury. Which is why my bladder is unaffected.” He stopped, then started again. “I just don’t feel like me. The one time I tried, it felt like my body wasn’t mine.”

“Have you asked Doctor Son?”

“Yeah, she said it was a type of dysmorphia,” he relayed. “Said working through it with an _understanding partner_ could help.”

“Does it still get hard?”

“Eh?”

“Your dick, Joong-ah.”

“Oh. Yeah, and it can still cum, it’s just, there’s not a lot of pleasure when it does. It feels like it does it because that’s what it’s supposed to do, instead of it happening because I feel good.”

“Ok.” Seonghwa was taking in all this information. “So, would you like to still have a physical relationship?”

Hongjoong nodded, no hesitation.

“Would you like for me to avoid that area?”

Hongjoong thought, then shrugged.

“Hongjoong.” He looked up, meeting Seonghwa’s gaze. “Do you remember in university, when we first got together?”

“Most of it. We drank a lot back then.”

“Yes, we did. But do you remember the first few weeks we were sleeping together? All the experimenting and the mistakes? Everything we got _wrong?”_

“Definitely,” Hongjoong snorted. “Remember when you tried to bottom?”

“…yes, I do.”

“Yeah, you are _so_ not a switch.”

“My point is,” Seonghwa got back on track, “it took us a long time to figure out how each other’s bodies worked. We can do that again, Joong-ah, for you. If we take the time, and see what’s good for you, what’s not…what do you think?”

“I want to…” he mumbled, more to himself. “Fuck, I want that. I’ve really missed you, Hwa.”

“Well, then,” Seonghwa whispered, voice dropping deep. He maneuvered Hongjoong to lay him down on his back. “All you have to do is lay back,” he crawled over top, “and let me see how I can make you scream. You said you fingered yourself?”

Hongjoong gulped and nodded.

“And? Your prostate?”

“Seemed…normal. Could still feel everything.”

Seonghwa smirked, looking like a predator who had cornered his prey.

“Then, baby, sounds like we have plenty to work with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Eden. Talented, talented boy. If you've never heard "Suffering for Love," go do yourself a favor and listen. 
> 
> We will see Seonghwa and Hongjoong exploring their physical relationship...but not yet. We need something to look forward to. 
> 
> We're getting into some angsty waters here, but it won't last too long. I'm not one for slow burn, I'm far too impatient, so don't worry too much. 
> 
> I do have some surprises up my sleeve, however, and I do hope they will be...surprising 👀
> 
> Hope you're enjoying! As always, feel free to chat with me in the comments! Until next time.


	9. San and Wooyoung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San finds what he wants outside of Wooyoung and outside of his loveless love life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy

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As finals grew closer, movies nights slowly transitioned into study nights, and San grew more and more exhausted. It didn’t help that, every time Wooyoung had decided he’d studied enough for the night, he would pester San incessantly until he eventually gave up as well.

During his break for coffee in the kitchen, somewhere between one and two in the morning, a voice cut through the silence, almost making him drop his mug.

“Ddan!”

San froze for a moment before turning, facing Wooyoung’s smirking face.

“Ddan!” Wooyoung exclaimed again. _“How does it sound? Is it close?”_

This wasn’t a game they played often; Wooyoung had been deaf since birth and didn’t usually have the confidence to speak. Not knowing how he sounded made him uncomfortable, and made speech something foreign to him.

The few times Wooyoung felt comfortable enough to speak were times San used to live for. He’d commit that high, cheerful voice to memory, his heart beating a mile a minute and fluttering beyond his control. He’d smile bright, maybe tease him some, and try to hold back tears of joy.

This time, while his heart did skip a beat, San felt…annoyed. He was trying so hard to move on from all this, but Wooyoung had unknowingly pulled a trump card. He sighed.

 _“Yeah, you’re pretty close,”_ he told him. Wooyoung gave him a suspicious look.

 _“Liar,”_ Wooyoung retorted. _“Let’s pick a movie!”_

_“No way. I haven’t even touched chemistry. I need to keep studying!”_

_“Please? We can cuddle, and I won’t mess with the subtitles to make Jongho angry?”_

San threw his head back with a groan. He wasn’t going to be allowed any more productivity at this point, even though finals were not going to wait for him. 

_“Give me ten minutes of chemistry while you pick a film.”_

Wooyoung punched the air and ran to the living room while San made a move for his lab notebook to cram what he could. He felt antsy.

Once they’d settled down and Wooyoung had San as his human pillow, Wooyoung turned to look up at him.

_“Do you want to go out tomorrow?”_

_“I can’t,”_ San looked away. _“I have to study tomorrow, and I’m hanging out with Soobin and Yeonjun tomorrow night.”_ Wooyoung looked surprised, then pouted.

“Hm,” Wooyoung hummed aloud, then paused. _“You’ve…been with Yeonjun and Soobin a lot lately.”_

 _“Jongho keeps saying I need more friends,”_ San quipped, trying to lighten the mood. _“Plus, I like them.”_ Wooyoung grew quiet, looking contemplative, before turning away toward the television.

San wondered if he’d said something wrong but decided to leave it be. He couldn’t let his whole world revolve around Wooyoung if he ever wanted this to work. He turned his eyes to the movie, reciting chemistry formulas and practice equations in his head while it played.

He hoped he and Wooyoung would still be ok after all of this.

….

San loved the apartment Yeonjun and Soobin shared. It was warm and well-furnished; walls painted a rich royal blue and full of knick-knacks, even a fireplace for the colder seasons. The sofa was comfortable, if not a bit worn, and they always had plenty of wine.

They sat on the floor of the living room, cushions thrown to the ground to sit and lay on, wine sloshing around red plastic cups. San was laughing hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. Yeonjun pouted, snuggling closer to him.

_“I swear, finals are killing me. If I see one more sticky note, I might just explode.”_

_“Try being a bio-chem major! I’d take your journalism classes any day.”_

_“Yah! I’m going to be traveling the world sleeping in cars and eating saltines while you’re holed up in a cozy lab somewhere!”_

_“My heart bleeds for you…but I feel worse for whoever ends up having to read your writing.”_

San was met with a pillow to the face, causing his wine to splash before he set it to the side and tackled Yeonjun to the floor. They rolled around the pillows, giggling, until the front door opened with a beep.

“San-hyung? You here?”

“In the living room!” San called back to Soobin as he arrived with let dinner. He squeezed Yeonjun a little tighter before releasing him from his hold.

_“Soobin?”_

_“In the kitchen. Food.”_

They both crawled over each other in an unspoken race to get there first. Yeonjun won in the end, stuffing his cheeks with fish cakes before leaning over the table to give Soobin a greasy welcome kiss. San followed suit, hoarding the tuna kimbap before someone else inhaled it.

They sat and ate, Soobin telling them about his day and Yeonjun taking the lead in filling Soobin in on the conversation he’d missed. San sat, content to listen and munch on whatever was left.

Eventually, they returned to their cushions in the living room, Soobin taking a beer to drink with them.

 _“How was movie night?”_ Soobin asked.

 _“I was up all-night studying. Wooyoung_ did _manage to play a movie around 2 A.M., though,”_ San said.

 _“And how are you feeling?”_ Yeonjun prompted, leaning closer. San sighed, contemplative.

_“I’m…frustrated. My brain is more than ready to start moving on but…the rest of me hasn’t gotten the message. I feel like I’m pushing him away because every time I feel that way around him, I get annoyed.”_

_“And he thinks you’re annoyed with him,”_ Yeonjun filled in.

 _“He might. I’m worried he does,”_ San said, hanging his head. Soobin reached over, placing a hand on San’s.

_“Don’t, ok? I’m not saying you should act like a jerk to him, but Wooyoung-hyung is an adult. If he’s upset, he can come and talk to you about it.”_

_“He’s right,”_ Yeonjun agreed. _“It’s not going to help your situation if you’re constantly laser-focused on how he’s feeling or how you’re making him feel.”_

 _“You’re right, it’s just…Wooyoung’s always been my focus.”_ San felt like he was going in circles. Yeonjun and Soobin were doing their best to help, and San was trying his hardest to take their advice to heart, but everything was proving to be so…difficult.

 _“Well, maybe…we could help with that?”_ Yeonjun’s moved cautiously as he signed, giving Soobin a meaningful look. The other nodded for him to continue. _“Soobin and I have been discussing something that we wanted to…offer you.”_

 _“It’s something we want, but we thought it could also help you, give you something else to focus on,”_ Soobin added on, trying to imply something, as if San was supposed to catch on.

 _“Ok, I have no idea,”_ San said, totally lost. Soobin sighed.

_“We wanted to offer you sex. With us.”_

San’s jaw dropped, blinking several times to make sure his brain wasn’t messing with him. Whatever he was expecting Soobin to say, that was far, far from it.

 _“Yeonjun is P-O-L-Y-A-M-O-R-O-U-S, polyamorous,”_ Soobin continued, fingerspelling the word out for San to understand. _“I’m not, but we’ve talked about compromising by taking on a…sexual partner, I guess.”_

_“You guys are…an open relationship?”_

_“No, not like that!”_ Yeonjun quickly corrected. _“Think more friends with benefits. Our_ relationship, _all the feelings and romance, is strictly between us.”_

 _“Anyway, we wanted to offer this to you,”_ Soobin said, cutting back to the point. _“We like you, San-hyung. And if you want something casual, no strings, we’re here and willing.”_

 _“Plus, you’re really hot,”_ Yeonjun added, lighting the atmosphere. _“But it’s up to you, and of course you can say no. And nothing between us will change, ok?”_

San’s mind was racing a mile a minute, trying to process this complete curve ball that had been lobbed his way.

A casual, strictly physical relationship; he could see the benefits. He could get some distance from Wooyoung in his mind, especially when thinking of sex and relationships. But he could also see how it could go so wrong if things weren’t communicated correctly.

San could see the possible disasters this could cause, but they were all mute in point because he trusted Yeonjun and Soobin. He trusted them to talk to him, to hold nothing back, and to respect his boundaries.

 _“Ok,”_ San said after long, long pause to think. _“Totally casual?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“We’re still friends? It won’t be weird?”_

_“We’re all adults, San-hyung.”_

_“Ok,”_ San felt relieved. _“Ok, then. I like the sound of this.”_ He stopped, backtracking for a moment. _“Should we talk about safe-words or anything?”_ Yeonjun snorted.

 _“We’re pretty vanilla, actually,”_ he admitted, Soobin flushing and rubbing his neck. _“If you want BDSM, that’s not us, sorry.”_ San laughed loud as Soobin elbowed Yeonjun hard in the side.

 _“But if there’s anything you want us to know, or avoid, just tell us, ok?”_ Soobin went serious again. “ _You’re sure about this?”_ Soobin asked, and San nodded, feeling heat crawl up his neck. Yeonjun smirked and decided he’d waited long enough.

Grabbing San by the nape of the neck, he pulled him in and pressed their lips together. The initial impact was soft and considerate, but when Yeonjun began to move, it was all heat and fervor. San groaned in surprise, Yeonjun swinging his leg over to straddle San’s thighs, hands exploring. He was wasting no time.

Suddenly, Soobin was at San’s back, his body practically engulfing San’s. He often forgot, given Soobin’s sweet nature, that the younger was so _large._ His hands snaked past his hips and found his inner thighs, groping as he dove in to kiss at his neck.

“What do you prefer, hyung?” Soobin said aloud, lips brushing the shell of San’s ear.

“Mm?” was all he could manage around Yeonjun’s greedy tongue as it explored his mouth.

“Top or bottom?” San detached for a moment.

“I switch.”

Soobin smirked against his neck, signing something to Yeonjun over San’s shoulder.

“You’re perfect,” he heard before Yeonjun leaned over San to give Soobin a hot, open-mouthed kiss that San had a front row seat to. San’s whole body flushed, and his hard dick became ten times harder. God, they were hot.

They eventually separated, Soobin grabbing San by the chin and turning his head to kiss him as well. He was so different from Yeonjun; softer but more sensual and passionate. Something about the way Soobin kissed made San’s nerves light on fire.

With time, they made it to the bedroom, where the couple laid San down and took their time exploring his body. They were all testing the waters, seeing what was ok and what wasn’t, what made someone scream and growl.

On his hands and knees, Yeonjun had fit three fingers inside him, not so much thrusting as he was twisting and probing, making San’s back arch as electricity shot through him. Soobin was on his knees in front of him, hand reached around behind to prep himself while his thick cock sat heavy on San’s tongue as San did his best to pleasure him.

“So distracted, hyung,” Soobin said, though not maliciously. “He’s good, isn’t he? I’m so glad you get to have him, too. He’ll make you feel so good.” A swirl of San’s tongue around the head of his dick cut Soobin off with a groan, abs clenching.

A bite to San’s inner thigh grabbed his attention as Yeonjun’s fingers left him. He pulled off of Soobin’s cock, turning to look at Yeonjun. Yeonjun gripped San’s hip, prompting him to flip onto his back as he sprung up to grab some condoms. He rolled one on himself before throwing the other to Soobin.

San looked up, confused and hazy from pleasure, but Soobin shushed him gently and stroked his hair. San didn’t have the time to ask questions before Yeonjun’s cock was pushing into him, making him mewl in pleasure. Yeonjun gave a low groan as he bottomed out.

“He makes the best noises, hyung,” Soobin said, looking a bit foggy himself. “You do, too.”

He reached over to roll the condom on San’s hard cock, furthering San’s confusion. It made more sense when Soobin lubed him up and straddled him, sinking down on his cock with a blissed-out sigh.

God, San was in heaven. Then, together, they _moved._

San felt his whole body was melting, knuckles white as he gripped the sheets, head thrashing. There were sounds escaping him he had never made in his life, his arousal only amplified when Soobin and Yeonjun started making sounds of their own. Everything was slow and deep, hitting every spot with deadly accuracy.

Unsurprisingly, San was the first to cum, eyes whiting out as he was overwhelmed and outnumbered, only to then watch as Soobin got to his hands and knees, hovering over San, as Yeonjun fucked him to both their climaxes.

San learned a lot that night. He learned both of them were also switches, though Soobin had a preference to bottoming. Soobin was pliant and submissive while Yeonjun was needy and bossy; San was somewhere in between, fitting right in the middle without throwing off their balance.

By the end of it, they were all boneless and sticky, San wondering if this had all been a dream. Soobin and San were both snuggled into Yeonjun’s chest, Soobin’s long limbs reaching across him to touch San as well.

They laid together, skin on skin, fingers brushing back locks of hair or tracing the length of a spine. Little touches, just so they all knew the others were still there with them. A peck to the forehead brought San’s attention up to Yeonjn.

 _“Sorry, we’re big on cuddling after sex,”_ Yeonjun explained a bit sheepishly. San just smiled and shook his head in understanding, nuzzling the skin of his chest.

“How do you feel?” Soobin asked aloud. San did a quick once over on himself, physically and mentally, before he smiled again.

 _“I feel good,”_ San signed, reveling in the fact that it was the honest truth. _“Really. This was really good.”_

And he did, it was. The stress and knots from finals seemed to have drained away, and Wooyoung was, for once, not at the forefront of his mind. He was able to put his issues on the back burner, if only for a little while, so he could feel good and make them feel good in return.

 _“So, maybe there can be next time?”_ Yeonjun prompted. _“I mean, what’s better than fun, crazy-good sex between friends?”_ San laughed and nodded, hoping this could indeed become a regular thing.

He spent the night that night, wrapped up between the two, waking up to an empty bed the next morning. San made his way to the kitchen, finding Soobin wrapped around Yeonjun while he cooked; he smiled and sat at the kitchen table.

They all sat and ate, discussing their new arrangement and what each one of them wanted and expected, ironing out finer details on where San fit. They agreed; no intimacy with San unless all three of them were present, no intimacy with San outside the bedroom—though friendly skinship and little kisses off the lips were ok—and so on.

It made San feel better, knowing everyone was on the same page. It also made him feel better knowing he had something outside of the unrequited love he’d known.

Soobin and Yeonjun were great, and they were not in love with him. And even better yet, San was not in love with them.

It was freeing, really.

He felt _good_ , better than he had in a long time.

Maybe because San finally felt he was in control of what he wanted.

Maybe because for the first time in a long time, he could forget he was in love with Wooyoung.

The more he thought about the “whys,” the more San found he really didn’t care.

So, promising next time was his turn to buy dinner, he waved them goodbye and headed off to the library to study.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Memorial Day, everyone!
> 
> This was...a little self-indulgent, yes, but I wanted to explore the separation between physical and emotional love with San. Plus, this will play into things later. It's not all about threesomes, ya'll. 
> 
> But San's happy! Surely nothing will, say...throw a wrench in things? 
> 
> Anyway, hope ya'll enjoyed, and as always, feel free to chat with me in the comments!


	10. Mingi and Yunho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mingi and Yunho see reality for what it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy

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Yunho woke that morning to a cold, unfamiliar bed and the smell of eggs and bacon in the air. Smiling, he stretched himself out, shivering as the AC blasted him the moment he left his warm blanket cocoon. He took a second, steadying himself on his sleep-heavy legs, to find a pair of boxers and socks before slipping out of the bedroom.

Mingi was hobbling around, breakfast expertly balanced on his arms, his knee brace the only thing keeping him upright. He walked/hopped to the table, setting down two plates, steaming omelets on each.

“Mingi-ah,” Yunho announced his presence, crossing the kitchen to wrap his arms around him. “I could’ve helped. Where’s your cane?”

“By the door, where you left it,” Mingi quipped back, leaning into the embrace. Yunho sniffed a kiss into his hair, stoking down Mingi’s bare side.

“How’s your core? Any more cramps?”

“No, just sore, but it’ll be that way for a while. The cane makes me use more muscles than the crutch.”

“And how’s everything else?” Yunho asked with a coy tone, hand continuing down to stroke Mingi’s ass over his boxers. Mingi batted him away.

“Also sore, but in a good way,” Mingi stuck his tongue out over his shoulder before nudging him with his elbow. “Get me my cane, please?”

Yunho nibbled Mingi’s ear before detaching himself, running for the hallway as Mingi squealed of “no biting!” in protest. He returned, cane in hand, leaning it against the table as Mingi sat to eat. Yunho rounded the table, sitting across from him, sliding his foot across to rest against Mingi’s.

“Your toes are cold,” Mingi scowled at him, but Yunho was already shoving a huge bite of omelet into his mouth and chasing it with steaming coffee. “You don’t have classes today?” Yunho shook his head.

“No class, but I have practice tonight,” Yunho said, swallowing his food. “You should come! Unless you don’t want to be around dancing, which I get…?”

“I don’t know,” Mingi said honestly, looking at his eggs. “I’ve stayed away from it so far. Maybe I could try? I mean, it’s been a year.”

“Whatever you want to do,” Yunho assured him. “But, I would love to have you there with me. You were an amazing dancer, but your brain was equally so, Mingi-ah. You’re smart and creative and a hell of a choreographer. Even if you can never dance again, you don’t have to leave it behind completely.” He paused. “But, again, it’s what you want, so I’ll, um, shut up.”

“Hey,” Mingi said lightly. “You don’t have to tip-toe around it, ok? You can talk to me, I’ll tell you of you say something stupid.” They both smiled. “As for dance…maybe one day.” Yunho took that answer with a nod and got back to his breakfast.

They ate together, Mingi constantly scolding the other for the incessant game of footsie he kept instigating under the table. Breakfast was full of giggles and laughter. It was light, happy, and achingly domestic.

By the time they’d finished eating and headed to the bedroom to find themselves clothes to wear, Mingi felt like he was floating. Yunho’s smile seemed to have that effect on him.

While he sat on the bed, buttoning the cardigan Yunho picked for him, Mingi found himself pinned by the man in question to the bed. Mingi gasped, lips capturing his. It was sweet and chaste, lasting a while, just enjoying the warmth of each other.

Yunho hummed as he pulled away, looking down at Mingi with the softest eyes. There was silence for a while, Mingi thanking the powers that be for his freshly washed face and brushed teeth.

“Move in with me.”

Everything came to a screeching halt.

Mingi’s smile faded, his skin and morning breath suddenly the last thing on his mind. He didn’t move for a moment, wondering if he really heard what he thought he heard.

_“What?”_

“Move in with me,” Yunho repeated, completely confident and still as loving as he was before. “I want you to live with me.”

“That’s a joke, right?” Mingi asked, voice shaky. He pushed Yunho off of him, sitting up to look him in the eye. “You—you’re joking, right?”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Are…” Mingi was struggling to find the words. He was baffled. “I—I don’t…Yunho, _what?”_

“What’s wrong?” Yunho asked, seeming genuinely concerned. “What’s wrong with that?”

Mingi wanted to laugh, but he was far too distraught.

“Yunho, we started dating _yesterday!”_

“We’ve lived together before. Why is it so different?”

“Are you _kidding me?”_ Mingi was quickly growing in volume. “That was a dorm! We were assigned to live together! Even then, we were _roommates_ with other _roommates!_ We weren’t living alone together, and we weren’t a couple!”

“I understand, but we already established that we had feelings back then,” Yunho tried to explain himself. “And we were sleeping together toward the end! I know we weren’t official, but has anything really changed since we—”

“Of course, things have changed!” Mingi was screaming now. “ _I’ve_ changed! It’s been a _year!”_

“And I’ve loved you for a year!”

“But you can’t know that!” Mingi cried. “Because I’m not the same person I was in school! Things have _happened,_ Yunho! Not just physically, but mentally I—I have baggage I didn’t have before! And you couldn’t know! You—you can’t love me, you don’t _know_ me!”

Mingi paused, breathing hard, tears falling fast. Yunho looked heartbroken.

“Yunho-ah, I need you to stop pretending I’m the same person you knew a year ago. Because I’m not, I need—need you to—to see that.”

Mingi devolved into sobs. Yunho slipped from the bed, kneeling in front of him, thumbs rubbing circles into Mingi’s knees. He looked a bit panicked, trying his best to backtrack before things got worse.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Mingi-ah. Please, let’s just talk. I’ll listen, baby, I’m here to listen. Just talk to me, tell me what you want.” He took a second, jumping up to the bathroom and returning with a handful of tissues, gently pulling Mingi’s hands from his face to wipe his cheeks.

Once Mingi’s breathing had evened and the weeping died down, Mingi grew quiet and seemed to take a long while to think. Yunho brought him some water, but he didn’t drink. The glass sat in his hand, still. After a while, Yunho sat next to him and waited for him to speak.

“We’re moving way too fast,” Mingi eventually whispered. “We need…to rethink this.”

“What do you mean?” Yunho asked.

“We should take some time. Think about if this is really a good idea.”

Yunho’s breath hitched, grabbing Mingi’s hand in his own. He placed the water to the side before turning to him with a pleading look.

“Mingi-ah, please, don’t end this. Please, we—we’ve barely started.”

“I’m not, I promise. We just…need to be apart for a while. I need you to think about what I’ve said. I’ve got some serious issues now, and if we do this, you need to be ready for that. And, we need to realize, we’re not _strangers,_ but we’re not the same people we used to be. And I need to think about if I—I’m ready for this. We need to start over.”

Yunho opened his mouth, then closed it again. He nodded, taking a deep, pained breath.

“Ok,” Yunho said, holding himself together. “I’ll…I’ll go, ok? Can I text you? Check in?” Mingi nodded. Yunho seemed relieved at that. “Thank you. Take care, ok? I’ll see you soon, just let me know. I’ll miss you, yeah? I—I really care about you. Just, don’t forget that, ok?”

Mingi forced a smile for him, Yunho leaning in to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. It was sweet but quick, like he didn’t want to pull away but knew he must. Yunho stood and made his way out of the bedroom. His head and shoulders seemed heavier than before, but he made it out before he broke down.

Mingi listened to Yunho sniffling as he put his shoes on and left, the door closing quietly behind him. The lump in Mingi’s throat grew again, forcing more sobs from his lips now that he was alone. He couldn’t do that; the thought of having the apartment to himself in that moment was truly crushing.

He grabbed for his phone from the bedside table, ignoring any notifications from the night before, and hit his emergency contact. His hand was shaking as the phone rang once, twice, before someone picked up.

“Mingi, hi. Hongjoong is still asleep.”

“Hyung,” Mingi sobbed out.

“Mingi-ah, what’s wrong? Are you ok? Where are you?”

“Hyung,” Mingi said again, “can I come over?”

“Yeah, of course,” Seonghwa said, still sounding a bit panicked. “Just get a cab, ok? I don’t think you need to be on the bus right now.”

Mingi agreed and headed out, Seonghwa promising to have some fresh tea ready for him.

….

“You made the right choice, Mingi-ah.”

“Did I? I mean, I know it was right, but it doesn’t feel very good.”

“That doesn’t make it the wrong choice, it just makes it a difficult one.”

“…I made him cry, hyung.”

“I know you feel like you hurt him but think about what could’ve happened if you went along with this! You’d be married by next week and divorced by next month.”

“That’s exaggerating things.”

“Maybe so, but I still stand by it. You made the right choice. You’ve been apart for a year, of course you’ve changed! Anybody would, even if they haven’t been through what you have. He’s changed, too, whether he wants to admit it or not. You were right, you both need to step back and think about this.

“Mingi, what this is, is Yunho coming into this with expectations of what a relationship with you would look like. And those expectations are based off a version of you—and him—that no longer exists. And what do you think happens when those expectations aren’t what he gets? You start fighting, your relationship becomes strained, until it finally breaks and you end up alone.”

“Because it’s not real. It’s just…the idea of what we wanted back in school.”

“Exactly.”

“…”

“…”

“Now what?”

“Now, he’ll either realize you’re not the Mingi he knew in university, or he won’t.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then he loses out on you. And that’s ok, because if he stays this dense, he didn’t deserve you from the start.”

“…It was so good, hyung. It was so short, but it was so good for a moment.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Mingi-ah.”

“And he’s—he’s so _good._ He’s soft and—and sweet and loving. Why couldn’t it fucking _last_ for once!”

“ _Shhh_ , it’ll be ok. Come on, we’ve got ice cream. Come pick a flavor.”

….

It was a week and a half of nothing but the occasional text from Yunho, asking how he’s doing, if he’s eating well, so on. Mingi knows Yunho’s just giving him the space he asked for, but part of him wants to run to him every time Yunho contacts him. Yet, he resisted and tried to focus on himself for the time being.

He had just finished dyeing his hair, covering the faded orange-pink and overgrown roots with dark brown, and was drying his hair with a towel when his doorbell rang.

“Coming!” Mingi grabbed both his crutches, as he wasn’t wearing his brace, and made his way to the front door.

Opening it revealed Yunho, looking at Mingi sheepishly through his lashes and a bag of takeout in hand.

“Hey.”

“…Hey.”

Yunho shuffled his feet a bit.

“Can we talk?”

Mingi nodded and opened the door wider, letting Yunho follow him inside. The takeout was placed on the counter, forgotten, as they both sat at the kitchen table. Mingi was holding his breath, unsure if he was ready for what came next.

“I hope I wasn’t intruding on anything,” Yunho said, tracing the scratches in the wood with a fingertip. “Your hair looks good.”

“Thanks. I just finished dyeing it.” Mingi waited, but Yunho stayed silent. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Yunho said in a rush. “I’ve been thinking about how I want to say this for the past two weeks, but, I’m still—” He cut himself off with a sigh.

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere,” Mingi assured him. He had never seen Yunho so vulnerable before. Something about his disposition seemed like Yunho had come here with his soul bared for the world to see.

“You were right,” Yunho finally said, voice just above a whisper. “I was moving way too fast. I was thinking that we could just pick up where we left off from school. But you’ve changed. Hell, I’ve changed, too! I just…

“Ever since I lost you a year ago, and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again, I kept thinking about everything we didn’t get to do. Everything I wanted to do with you, together. Us, together. So, when I got you back, and—and you still had feelings for me, I was so ready to make all those fantasies come true. But I overlooked… everything else. You, especially.”

Yunho reached across the table, gently placing his hand on Mingi’s, but not grabbing it.

“Mingi-ah, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please, have I ruined it? Have I messed this up before it even started?”

That broke Mingi’s heart a bit. Yunho was always a sweet soul that wore his heart on his sleeve. He was sensitive, crying at things like romance films and videos of dogs greeting soldiers. Mingi understood why Yunho looked so scared, so helpless; he was afraid all this was his fault.

“No, Yunho-ah,” Mingi told him. “You didn’t mean to, and I don’t blame you. But you realize we need to start over now. We can’t go on like this, with our past dictating our relationship.” Yunho nodded furiously, obviously pushing back tears. “And…my mental health.”

“I’m here for you,” Yunho said quickly, eager. “Just like with your leg, I’m—I’m here, ok?” Mingi felt relieved, his shoulders relaxing at that. “Just help me understand. I’ll do everything I can to be the best for you.”

“So will I,” Mingi told him, willing himself not to cry again. No more tears, please.

They sat for many more hours, talking about anything and everything.

Mingi told Yunho about his PTSD, which usually manifested in the form of sleep paralysis, his mind convincing his body he was still paralyzed. Yunho told him about his father’s battle with prostate cancer, which lead to his funeral only two months earlier.

Mingi told him about his hyung he’d met in physical therapy, and how he’d helped Mingi find the solace he’d once found in dance in music. Yunho told him about his struggles with dyslexia, which Mingi knew he had but had presented new struggles for Yunho in recent times, when it came to higher-level courses.

They talked about all the dark, unpleasant, _real_ things they hadn’t touched on their first date. They opened up to one another, unafraid the other would turn their backs because they were a little too imperfect, a little too flawed.

Mingi and Yunho fell asleep that night, curled up on the sofa, tucked into each other but feet still dangling from the end. The next morning, Yunho took a cup of coffee and went on his way, promising to text Mingi to plan a date for that week.

They both went about their day, smiles on their faces, knowing that things would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can never make angst last long, I'm far too impatient for that. 
> 
> Hope ya'll enjoyed this punch in the gut reality-- and Seonghwa-- gave our favorite pair of puppies. I'm sure they'll be fine...👀
> 
> As you all know, lots of things are happening in the world right now. I hope everyone has been able to stay safe while standing up for what you believe. The world and its leaders are trying their damnedest to divide us, but remember to stand together in the name of equality and justice. #BlackLivesMatter
> 
> I'll leave it at that. I hope you all enjoyed, and as always, feel free to chat with me in the comments!
> 
> https://minnesotafreedomfund.org/donate - donate  
> https://blacklivesmatter.com/defundthepolice/ - petition


	11. Jongho and Yeosang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jongho and Yeosang grow closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy

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Jongho wasn’t sure what pissed him off more; the sharp, knife-like pain in his left temple or the fact that it struck when he was supposed to be meeting Yeosang.

Over the past few weeks, they’d been texting nonstop and found time only one other time to meet for lunch together. Yeosang’s schedule and Jongho’s finals growing closer had proven to be obstacles when it came to planning dates.

At last, they’d found a night, and as excited as Jongho was for it, the splitting migraine, and the fact that his eyes kept slipping closed without his permission were issues.

He threw down his pen with a groan, head dropping into his hands as he massaged his eye sockets. It felt like someone had stuffed his brain with cotton, and the constant bustling of the campus coffee shop was not helping. Jongho prayed he could pull himself together before Yeosang met up with him.

He tipped back his black coffee—extra sugar—and chugged what was left.

Jongho focused on music theory for the next hour or so, filling his worksheets with chord progressions and making notes here and there. Despite his attempt to block out the world, the pounding in his head was intensifying when Yeosang plopped into the chair across from him.

Jongho jumped.

“Hi, stranger!” Yeosang was beaming, eyes bright and hair freshly dyed a bold black. He was glowing, as always, and Jongho’s heart welled at the sight of him. Yeosang ran a hand through his locks, looking rather proud. “What do you think?”

“You’re stunning,” Jongho complimented, shoulders relaxing and finding a smile. “What else is new?”

Yeosang began to speak again, but a shot of pain accompanied by an eye spot prevented Jongho from being able to read the words.

“I’m sorry, hyung, what was that?”

Yeosang’s brow furrowed. “Jongho-ah, baby, are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” If not for the migraine, the pet name would’ve made his week.

“Jongho-ah, you look exhausted,” Yeosang implored. He noticed Jongho wincing. “Is your head hurting?”

“What was that?”

“Is your head hurting?”

Jongho wanted to shake his head no, but he also didn’t want to lie. So, he ducked his head and murmured, “I’m fine.” Yeosang obviously wasn’t convinced.

“I…did some reading,” Yeosang said slowly. “I read that lip reading can be really tiring for people. It made me think about how tired _you_ always look after our dates.”

“Yeosang-hyung—”

“I know, it’s your choice,” he assured Jongho. “But today seems like a bad day. An especially bad day.”

Yeosang gave him a look, wanting the truth.

“…I’m tired,” Jongho conceded with a sigh. “And I have a migraine. It’s…a bad day, you’re right.” He was quick to add, “But I was really looking forward to tonight! It’s been so hard to find time to see each other.”

“Jongho-ah, we can still have tonight together, but I think we should stay in.”

“But you made reservations at that nice Japanese place…”

“And I can make reservations again another time,” Yeosang grabbed Jongho’s hands. “Why don’t we head back to my place, order delivery, pick a movie, turn subtitles on and lights off…I can give you a shoulder massage?”

Yeosang continued to tempt and entice him, but Jongho was already sold.

“That…sounds really nice, hyung.”

….

Yeosang wasn’t bluffing.

Within the hour, Jongho was on a couch and wrapped in two quilts with a steaming bowl of udon on the TV tray table in front of him.

Yeosang’s apartment was very, very nice. It was precisely the opposite of his and San’s place; it was minimalist, all white and glass, pristine and very clean looking. There were splashes of color in the form of paintings, bright and large and placed randomly on patches of clean white wall. They all seemed to be from different artists.

“That’s my favorite,” Yeosang entered the living room with his own bowl of udon, referring to the painting Jongho had been studying.

It was a wide and depicted a red sky, dotted with turquoise clouds floating past. Beneath the horizon, a still body of water sat, a dock stretching out over the water and silhouetted against the sunset. A lone figure stood at the end.

“It’s beautiful,” Jongho told him. “You like art?”

“I do!” Yeosang assured him, sitting next to him. “None of these are terribly famous, though. Most of the photographers I work with are painters on the side. And I’d always rather buy from a friend.”

Of course, Yeosang was so sweet.

They ate, lights off and some psychological thriller playing from the TV. Once their bowls were empty, Yeosang offered Jongho some pain killers for the migraine, and snuggled together for the remainder of the film. The credits rolled, and Yeosang stretched before standing.

“You pick a new one. Do you mind if I go take off my makeup?”

Jongho smiled and shook his head.

As he flipped through Netflix, Jongho’s mind wandered. He hadn’t realized Yeosang was wearing makeup, at least today. There were times Jongho would receive selfies where Yeosang’s eyes were heavy with shadow and mascara, but today, he looked natural.

When Yeosang did return, Jongho cueing up a biopic, Jongho noticed that his eyes looked a fraction smaller and his skin looked a bit cleaner, fresher, if a tad less even toned. But the most noticeable part was the small red birthmark sitting next to his left eye.

“You have a birthmark,” Jongho blurted before he could think. Yeosang looked startled, then reached up to brush the mark with a sheepish smile. He spoke, but Jongho was still staring at his eye.

Something pulled at Jongho’s heartstrings, and he suddenly felt so fond of Yeosang. The mark was like a little kiss dotting his temple, and it was so uniquely him. 

Reaching for him, Jongho pulled him back down onto the couch and to his side. He reached his hands to cup Yeosang’s face, his thumb stroking the mark gently. Yeosang trailed off whatever he was saying.

Slowly, Jongho leaned in and pressed his lips to the mark. He felt Yeosang’s breath hitch.

Pulling away, Jongho whispered, “I love it.”

“You do?” Yeosang asked, Jongho looking to his lips just long enough to read before he was back staring at the mark.

“Mm, I do. It’s so cute and charming,” Jongho smiled. “Why do you cover it?”

“I’m a model, remember? Beauty standards.”

“I don’t like that,” Jongho scowled. “Would you…don’t cover it, when it’s just us?”

Yeosang’s eyes lit up, and he nodded, leaning in to peck Jongho on the lips. The gesture was innocent, but it shifted the air around them, and the movie was long forgotten. Yeosang inched in, winding his arms around Jongho’s neck, gazes turned heated.

“You know,” Yeosang said, tone breathy, “I never sleep with anyone on the first date.”

Jongho paused. “This isn’t our first date.”

The implication was clear as Yeosang closed the distance between them, lips meeting, already parted in anticipation.

They found their rhythm much faster than their first kiss, hands and mouths moving in tandem. Jongho’s body flushed with heat, whimpering in the face of Yeosang’s experience. Every flick of his tongue or dig of his fingers into flesh left Jongho melting.

They kissed hotly until Jongho pulled away.

“Hyung,” he panted, “you know I’m—I’ve never. I’m a virgin.”

“Ok,” Yeosang nodded, running fingers through his hair, nails scraping lightly at his scalp. “Do you want to do this? Or we can stop?”

“Yes, no, I—I just needed you to know. I wanted—I want this, you.” He wanted to stop talking. The more worked up Jongho became, the more his words slurred and stumbled.

“ _Shhh,_ ok. Tell me if you want to stop, ok? Anytime.”

Jongho nodded, and they stood; Yeosang had his hands, guiding him out of his quilt cocoon and down the hall, presumably to his bedroom. Jongho was proven right, finding himself sitting on the edge of a plush, king-sized bed.

Yeosang kissed him again, lowering them both flat to the mattress, straddling his hips as he crawled forward. Jongho’s hands found his waist, thumbing at his hips before reaching for the hem of his shirt. Yeosang was faster, however, ridding Jongho of his shirt before sitting up on his knees, pulling his own off next.

Jongho stared up at him as more skin was revealed, eyes locking on his slim neck and collar bone, then his naked chest, still heaving, then finally down to his navel.

There, on his right side and disappearing beneath his waistband, was a massive birthmark, the same red as the one by Yeosang’s eye. It began just below his chest, stretching across his right lower ribs, stomach, and hip, smooth and rose colored. It was huge and impossible not to notice. 

Jongho felt what he’d felt before, tenfold.

He flipped them, hovering on his hands and knees over Yeosang, and ran a hand down the birthmark. Another hand took his, and Jongho looked to Yeosang’s face.

“It’s what makes me more editorial, an unconventional model,” Yeosang told him. “Or they cover me with clothes, or makeup, and I’m conventional again.”

Jongho didn’t respond; instead, he leaned down and pressed his lips to his right ribs, trailing kisses along the birthmark until he reached Yeosang’s hip. He mouthed at Yeosang’s hip bone, sucking and nipping at it, leaving the skin darker than before. He continued across his skin, pulling at his waistband to reveal more.

When Jongho looked back up to Yeosang, he looked wrecked, eyes hooded and face flushed. Every sound he made sent vibrations down his body to Jongho’s lips.

Reaching down, Yeosang wiggled his way out of his pants, kicking them away; the birthmark stretched all the way down his thigh, Jongho could now see. Yeosang then tugged at Jongho’s jeans with a pout. The latter was able to break his stupor—Yeosang looked _stunning_ nude—and trip his way out of his pants as well.

Once he climbed back onto the bed, Yeosang cupped his face to bring him back down to earth.

“Hey,” he said, “how do you want to do this?”

“I…” Jongho felt he was long past words at this point.

“For your first time, topping would probably feel better.”

Eventually, Jongho nodded. “I…want to try, the other, one day. But now, whatever you think.”

“Oh, baby,” Yeosang said, eyes dark, stroking down Jongho’s pecs. “One day, I’ll open you up so good for me. But tonight, why don’t you let me make you feel good?”

The next thing he knew, Jongho was on his back again getting a lesson on prepping, trying desperately not to cum untouched while Yeosang was grinding down on his fingers. He did his best to thrust and pleasure him best he could, but it was clear he had much to learn.

Yeosang was wonderfully patient, though, and gave him a smiling kiss of encouragement, pulling off to fetch a condom. Ripping it open and rolling it on, he paused and leaned down to give the head of Jongho’s cock a suck. Jongho’s back arched harshly, breath hissing through his teeth, dick twitching against Yeosang’s tongue.

Pulling off with a pop, Yeosang practically leapt to straddle Jongho again, positioning and lining them up before sinking down onto his cock with a sigh. He took no pause and rode Jongho with precision, hips moving sinfully as he showered Jongho with compliments; compliments Jongho was far too blissed out to catch.

It wasn’t long before both of them were nearing the edge, though Jongho seemed to be falling faster. He reached up, one hand gripping Yeosang’s marked hip, the other thumbing at his nipple.

“ _Ngh,_ h’ung—”

“It’s ok, baby, you can go ahead and cum for me.”

Something sparked in Jongho, something defiant, and he shook his head. Planting his feet against the mattress, Jongho began snapping his hips up into Yeosang. The elder threw his head back, mouth falling open as Jongho released his nipple to grab his cock instead, stroking fast.

They reached the edge together, though Jongho didn’t slow until Yeosang was writhing on top of him. Body contracting and contorting, his shaky hands found Jongho’s to pull him from his cock firmly.

“ _Ah,_ too much, too much, _ah,_ baby, Jongho—”

Finally, Jongho stopped and Yeosang flopped sideways onto the bed, gasping for air and trembling. Jongho reached for him, gently pushing a lock of hair from his sweaty face. Yeosang looked up at him and smiled, giggling.

“Good?” Jongho asked, feeling a bit insecure. Yeosang crawled his way over, doing his best not to smear fluids onto the bed.

“So good, the best. Way too good for a virgin,” he teased, then leaned down, kissing Jongho in a lazy manner.

Once he’d caught his breath, Yeosang sprung up, pulling the condom off Jongho, making him jump. He waltzed to the bathroom, hips swinging, returning with a rag to clean them both. After another trip to the bathroom, he returned clothed.

Yeosang was dressed in a flowing silk kimono, and in that moment, illuminated by the city lights from the window, he looked magnificent.

He looked androgynous and elegant, poised and dainty, but sharp. Jongho would call him dangerous if he didn’t know any better. The air felt sucked from Jongho’s lungs as he felt so overwhelmed just being in the presence of someone so lovely.

Yeosang returned to the bed, pressing into Jongho’s side and draping a blanket over the both of them. They shared another kiss, still in the afterglow.

“Yeosang-hyung,” Jongho muttered. “I really like you. Really. I want to be with you.”

Yeosang lit up again. “Aw, baby, I do, too. I really want this to last, and…I think it could.” He paused. “How does ‘boyfriends’ sound?”

A grin splitting his cheeks, Jongho nodded vigorously.

They stayed up late that night, talking about Yeosang’s recent jobs and Jongho’s upcoming finals. Then, when they were too tired to speak, they simply touched one another; stroking skin, playing with fingers, twisting locks of hair. Soon, perhaps in the morning, they would flesh out their relationship, communicate more about what each of them wanted, but right now, that could wait.

Jongho would sit on the truth, however, until it was the right time to reveal it.

He didn’t simply “really like” Yeosang. Maybe it was dangerous, but Jongho knew that he was starting to fall for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True confessions: I really love Yeosang's birthmark. 
> 
> So, Jongho has been deflowered, but in other news, OT8 is growing closer...but, I hope ya'll liked the not-really-a-twist of expanding the concept of Yeosang's birthmark and of his "imperfections" lending to his modeling career. 
> 
> Next up, Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Remember what I promised for them last time? 👀
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and as always, feel free to chat with me in the comments.


	12. Seonghwa and Hongjoong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hongjoong's horizons are expanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy

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Hongjoong felt like he’d been dangling off the edge for hours. Perhaps because Seonghwa has had four fingers in his ass for hours.

“God, _shit,_ fuck, Hwa!”

Hongjoong squirmed, but Seonghwa continued to pay him and his devolving language skills no mind. Instead, he busied himself sucking _another_ hickey into the skin of Hongjoong’s chest. It had to be one of at least twenty.

For two hours Seonghwa had been teasing and edging Hongjoong, his newly revealed situation opening up new opportunities for the former to explore. This was only the third night they’d been physical, Seonghwa taking his time to research extensively how other people in similar situations made it work. They, in turn, could learn and adjust to suit themselves.

Hongjoong’s breathing was heavy as Seonghwa’s fingers padded over his prostate again; enough to make him clench and whine, but not staying long enough for him to bask in the pleasure.

“Please, please, baby, oh _god!”_

“Are you ready then, Joong-ah?” Seonghwa finally spoke, breath washing over Hongjoong’s jaw. Hongjoong gave a long, broken groan, nodding against the pillow.

At last, Seonghwa reached over to the bedside table and pulled out a vibrator wand, wasting no time switching it on. The buzz filling the room was the only warning Hongjoong got before it was pressing to the underside of his cock head, a little to the left. Simultaneously, Seonghwa mercilessly prodded at his prostate, rubbing hard at that spot inside him.

Hongjoong’s back arched harshly, practically screaming as he reached his climax. His voice broke off, his upper body twitching and trembling as Seonghwa worked him through it. Finally, _finally,_ the fingers left him, and the vibrator was switched off.

Hongjoong slumped back onto the mattress, eyes slipping shut as he no longer had the energy to keep them open. He laid there, limp and heaving for air, as Seonghwa left and returned with a washcloth. Hongjoong wriggled in protest, whining as the cloth wiped over his sensitive body.

Seonghwa threw the cloth somewhere—he’d worry about that later—and looked over his wrecked boyfriend. He marveled in the marks he’d left, dotting over Hongjoong’s pale chest, forming constellations of red and purple. He leaned down, pecking each one with soft lips.

“ _Ngh,_ you still not done?” Hongjoong jabbed, voice groggy. Seonghwa smiled before slotting himself next to the other, pulling him to lean him against his chest.

“How was it?”

“So good,” Hongjoong’s eyes finally opened. He looked up at Seonghwa, eyes warm. “M’still waiting for you to cave and just fuck me.”

“We agreed; slow. Bit by bit,” Seonghwa chided.

“Yeah, I know,” Hongjoong pouted, “but I miss you.”

“I’m right here,” Seonghwa giggled, pressing a kiss to his hair. “How was the vibrator?”

“ _Ugh,_ so good, Hwa. Best yet.”

“Yeah? Still dulled?”

“Mm,” Hongjoong hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, still pretty dulled. I mean, the vibrator stimulated a ton more than just a hand or mouth, but, pretty sure I’d never be able to cum just from that.”

They’d been experimenting with the small spot underside of Hongjoong’s dick that still had a tiny bit of sensation, but Hongjoong had said it felt like being touched through ten condoms; it helped give him pleasure, but not near enough by itself. 

“As long as you’re feeling good,” Seonghwa said. “That’s what matters.”

Hongjoong just hummed, snuggling deeper into Seonghwa’s chest. He glanced up, offering to return the favor, but Seonghwa just shook his head and urged Hongjoong to sleep.

And after a two-hour sex session, Hongjoong was more than happy to comply.

….

Hongjoong was jerked out his sleep and the horrors playing out behind his eyelids, gasping harshly and coughing on the air forcing its way through his lungs. Pain rocketed down his hip through his right leg, phantom pains that left him shaking.

He panicked, thrashing an arm through the darkness in hopes of finding purchase, though all he found was the edge of the bed. He unceremoniously rolled and thudded to the floor hip first, the phantom pains hitting a crescendo as Hongjoong’s mind was still being assaulted by the contents of his nightmare.

He writhed against the floor, grabbing for the small trash by their bed as he gagged before emptying his stomach into the bin. He dry heaved, hot tears streaking down his face, arms straining to hold himself over the trash.

“ _Hng,_ H’ngjoong?” Seonghwa slurred from above, trying to force himself wake. “M’babe? Where’re you?”

Hongjoong couldn’t reply; he continued to gag into the trash can, struggling to get oxygen into his body. Seonghwa eventually fought his way out of the bed, limbs still sleep-heavy, stumbling his way to where Hongjoong laid.

“ _Shhh,_ I’ve got you,” Seonghwa wrapped an arm around Hongjoong’s chest, pulling him up to sit upright between his legs. He brought the trash can with him to hold it under his chin. “You’re ok, let it out, babe.” I’ve got you, you’re ok.”

It took another twenty minutes before the dry heaving stopped and the gagging gave way to sobs. Hongjoong hadn’t wept like that in a while, ugly wails clawing their way up his through and snot dripping from his nose.

Seonghwa held him close, not quite knowing what had put Hongjoong in such a way. He did his best to wipe the tears and snot with his sleeve, whispering sweet words into the shell of Hongjoong’s ear.

When the sobs gave way to sniffles, Hongjoong spoke in a heartbreaking tone.

“M’sorry.” It was barely a breath, cracking and fractured.

“Stop that,” Seonghwa said gently. “No apologies.” There was a long pause, filled only with sniffles. “You want to talk about it?”

For the first time since the incident, there was no hesitation as Hongjoong violently shook his head no. Seonghwa shushed him softly, stroking up his arm and over his shoulders in an attempt to soothe him.

“I can’t, m’sorry, I really—” Gasping sobs cut him off.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. You don’t have to.” Seonghwa was concerned, but he forced himself not to push. The last thing he wanted was for Hongjoong to work himself back into a panic.

After another long while, Seonghwa cut the silence. “Joong-ah. Just…do me a favor, hm?”

“…uh-huh?”

“Your appointment with Dr. Son,” Seonghwa said. “Talk to her about it? I’m worried, baby.”

Slowly, Hongjoong nodded. Psychotherapy had always been a comfort zone for Hongjoong after the initial concept of having a therapist and “does this mean I’m crazy” waned. He always latched to the fact that, whatever he said to Dr. Son, stayed between them.

Seonghwa pressed a long kiss into Hongjoong’s neck. “Thank you, baby…how about I make you some tea and we can cuddle on the couch. We’ll talk about dumb shit, like we always used to.” Sleep was out of the question at this point.

“Yeah…yeah, that sounds good.”

Seonghwa carried his boyfriend to the couch, wrapping him in blankets and putting the kettle on to heat up while he cleaned vomit from the bin. He returned to Hongjoong with two steaming cups of tea wrapped in napkins. He sat, snuggled close, pressing another peck to Hongjoong’s cheek.

Hongjoong looked at him, eyes red and swollen, face pale and gaunt, and found a smile. “I love you so much, Seonghwa.”

“I love you, too. More than anything.”

….

Dr. Son’s office was straight out of a film; cozy and unassuming, an odd mix of browns and greens and mustard yellow. The only light was from the soft yellow bulb in the ceiling fan, the heavy floral curtains blocking any hint of the window. The couch was soft wool beneath Hongjoong’s grip.

“I told Seonghwa, about the sex thing.”

“That’s great to hear, Hongjoong-ssi. I know that’s been weighing on you for a while. How did it go?”

“Perfect. Of course. Seonghwa’s amazing.”

“Well, you never really thought he would be…put off, we’ll say.”

“Yeah.”

“But, that’s a huge step for _you_ , and great progress.”

“…yeah.”

“You’re stalling. What’s on your mind, Hongjoong-ssi? Do you want to discuss it today?”

“…I do. I had a breakdown last night, and Seonghwa’s worried. I—I didn’t tell him why. I couldn’t. But that’s making him worry more.”

“It sounds like he’s right to worry. Is he?”

“Probably. Last night was the worst one in months. The worst probably since…you know, right after.”

“Would you like to elaborate?”

“It was a nightmare.”

“Detailed?”

“Mm. It was a new one. I don’t know where it came from but…in it…Seonghwa was the one who got hit…he looked like me…skinny and weak and frail, and he couldn’t…I saw him get hit, I saw him in the chair and he looked…he looked—he looked dead inside, like all he was thinking was, ‘why didn’t I die? I should have died.’”

“Like you do. Or did.”

“Yeah. But the thing that got me was, even though I was fine and walking and shit, it _hurt._ It still hurt so bad seeing him like that and…is that what Seonghwa has been feeling this whole time? This whole time, I’ve never—I never even considered! I mean, I knew I was burdening him, I knew I made shit hard, but I never thought that…he’d be hurting like that…what the fuck kind of partner am I?”

“Hongjoong-ssi, I’ll be honest. Your partner saw you, struck by a car, lying in the road dying. He rode with you in the ambulance and sat in the hospital for hours, waiting to hear that you had passed; after all, that’s what the doctors were telling him to prepare for. I find it unlikely, if not impossible, that he walked away from that without any sort of trauma.

“ _However._ None of that makes you a bad partner. You were focusing on yourself, which was exactly what you needed to be doing. The better you got, the more you improved mentally and physically, I can only imagine how that eased Seonghwa-ssi’s mind. You were in no state, especially at the time, to carry anyone else’s burdens but your own.”

“…and now?”

“Now, just as you choose when you’re ready to open up to him, you must wait until he’s ready to open up to you.”

….

Hongjoong maneuvered his chair through the waiting room, doing his best not to roll over any toes. He stopped at the water dispenser, pouring himself a cup, downing it, then pouring himself another.

“Hongjoong-hyung!”

Hongjoong turned to find Mingi, the rest of him moving faster than his cane as always.

“I’m waiting for the day you face-pant, Mingi-ah,” Hongjoong snipped. “Isn’t the cane only for good days?”

“Not all of us need six cups of coffee to have a good day, hyung,” Mingi jabbed back, leaning back against the wall.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Bi-weekly check in. After this week, I get to go to monthly!”

“That’s great. Wonder if that new boy of yours has anything to do with it.”

Mingi blushed bright pink, looking away. “Seonghwa-hyung told you?”

“Obviously. He good to you?”

“The best, really. He makes me feel whole, hyung.”

“Gross,” Hongjoong wrinkled his nose. “Bring him over. I should meet him, yeah?”

“Y—yeah, probably,” Mingi reached up, rubbing the nape of his neck as his voice fell. Hongjoong caught on to Mingi’s nerves.

“Hey, how about this,” Hongjoong offered. “Yeosang’s in a new relationship, too, according to Seonghwa. Why don’t we have a dinner at our place? You can both bring your boyfriends, that way no one’s stuck being the center of attention the whole time. Sound good?”

“That does, actually,” Mingi sighed in relief, shoulders sagging.

“Cool. I’ll talk to Seonghwa about it,” Hongjoong said, reaching up to rub his eyes. He was starting to feel a bit heavy in the head.

“Hyung…don't worry about it, I’ll talk to him,” Mingi said, reaching to take Hongjoong’s wrist gently. “Are you ok? You look exhausted…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Hongjoong said quickly. “At least, better now.”

“Ok…I’ll talk to Seonghwa-hyung about dinner, you just…get some sleep, yeah?”

“Don’t tell me what to do, brat.” The jest had no bite behind it.

Mingi smiled, bidding the older farewell with a promise to call later about some lyrics, insisting Hongjoong take a nap first. Hongjoong waved him off, making his way to the front door to meet Seonghwa and head home.

His boyfriend met him with soft eyes and a softer hand, running though his hair. They made it back the car, the ride silent save for the radio playing, volume turned low.

“Session go ok?” Seonghwa’s words were hesitant, cautious.

“Yeah…it was ok,” Hongjoong told him. He paused. “I’ll tell you, just…not right now. Just—” He cut himself off, then tried again. “If there’s anything you ever want to talk about, you know, from your end…I’m here. I’m here to listen, ok?”

Seonghwa was quiet for a long while, eyes straight again, knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel. His lips parted, like he wanted to speak, but he closed them again. Finally, he gave a nod.

For the remainder of the ride, the atmosphere was heavy, like the air had turned to lead around them. It was unspoken, but both of them knew in that moment that, deep down, they weren’t ok.

Reaching over, Hongjoong gently took Seonghwa’s hand a laced their fingers together. Seonghwa squeezed, and Hongjoong squeezed back.

A promise that, even in silence, they were there for one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hongjoong finally sees what Yeosang saw all the way back at the beginning. Don't worry, they'll talk...probably. They're interesting concepts: all trauma is valid but is all trauma equal; how and if you can provide support when you yourself are compromised; the risk of dragging yourself down by burying yourself in the problems of others; the balance between letting someone you love suffer in silence and holding back until they're ready to share that suffering with you.
> 
> I don't have any answers for these. As I said, they're just explorations. 
> 
> But apparently, a dinner is happening. Sounds like everyone might be ending up in the same place, at the same time...
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed. As always, feel free to chat with me in the comments.


	13. 8 makes 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8 makes 1...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy

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Yeosang practically pranced around the kitchen, humming to himself and hips swaying. He was cleaning, sparkling dishes being put in their proper place, dragging the mop here and there across the tile.

He perked up when the door opened, signaling Jongho’s arrival using his brand-new spare key to Yeosang’s apartment. He threw the mop, not bothering to see where it landed, and pounced on Jongho the second he turned the corner.

Jongho laughed as he caught his boyfriend, lifting and spinning him as Yeosang squealed with joy. He placed him gently back onto his feet before leaning in for a kiss.

“You smell like cleaner,” Jongho snipped, pulling back from Yeosang’s lips.

“Lavender-scented. All natural, too,” Yeosang replied, pulling him back in for a deeper kiss, slotting their mouths together, humming into Jongho’s lips.

Jongho forced himself back, hands gripping Yeosang’s hips. “You said you wanted to talk?”

“Mm! Come on, we’ll sit,” Yeosang said, smiling bright. He sat them down at the kitchen table across from one another. “I’ve told you about Seonghwa-hyung, right?”

Jongho nodded.

“Well, he’s having a dinner at his place to meet you! His boyfriend’s best friend just got a boyfriend, too, so he thought it’d be best to meet both of you at the same time, so no one’s too pressured.”

Yeosang was grinning wide, excited, but he noticed Jongho was less so. His smile fell. He reached across the table, taking Jongho’s hands in his.

“Baby, what is it?” Yeosang asked, but Jongho only looked down, hesitating. “Hey,” Yeong pulled at his hands so he’d look at him, “we’ve been dating for over a month, now. When are you going to start telling me when things are bothering you?”

“It’s…” Jongho opened his mouth, then sighed and tried again. “Sorry, I’m just…I want to, really. Seonghwa-ssi is important to you, and I want to meet him…but, would it be ok if I invited my brothers?” Yeosang’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“It’s just—it’s hard, sometimes, being the only deaf one in the room. My brother San is hearing, so he can interpret, and we both grew up with Wooyoung, who’s deaf…would something like that be ok?”

Jongho looked up at him with those big, brown eyes, so worried he was causing problems, and Yeosang couldn’t help himself. He stood from his seat, rounding the table before plopping into Jongho’s lap, cradling the younger’s head to his chest.

He stayed like that for a while until Jongho started giggling with a light, “Hyung?”

“Of course, that’s ok,” Yeosang said, pulling away and cupping Jongho’s face in his palms. “Whatever makes you more comfortable. I’ll let Seonghwa-hyung know we’re bring two more.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“And you’re sure your hyung…he won’t mind?”

“Jongho-ah—”

“I’m serious, hyung,” Jongho reached up, gently taking Yeosang’s hands from his face. “I know I do pretty well fitting into the hearing world, but Wooyoung-hyung isn’t like me. He doesn’t speak or lip read, and I know you think highly of Seonghwa-ssi, but people are mean, even if they don’t mean to be. They don’t get it, because they’ve never lived it, having to do everything differently, but—”

“Baby,” Yeosang cut him off with a soft hand to his lips. “Seonghwa-hyung’s boyfriend is in a wheelchair. I know it’s not the same, but, trust me, they get it. And they’ll understand.”

“Oh,” Jongho said, his thoughts coming to a screeching halt. He took a long pause. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, I never told you,” Yeosang wrapped his arms around Jongho’s neck. “It happened only a few months ago. Maybe six or seven? They’ve had to completely change their lifestyles to accommodate.” He pulled his boyfriend a bit closer. “Baby, I wouldn’t drag you anywhere where I thought you’d be treated with anything less than the utmost love and respect. If anything, won’t you trust that?”

Jongho leaned up, pecking that lovely birthmark near Yeosang’s eye he loved so much, then kissing his lip as well.

“I will. I promise.”

….

Mingi could do nothing but limp along—on a crutch today—and stare at Yunho’s back as they approached Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s apartment. Mingi couldn’t go faster to catch up, in fear that the ancient carpeting along the hallway would catch on his crutch or foot and send him tumbling.

Yunho usually never walked off without Mingi; in fact, he was always mindful of his pace, sticking to Mingi’s side. Today, however, his nerves were pushing him, making him pace faster than normal.

By the time Mingi caught up to Yunho, who was standing anxiously in front of the apartment door, Yunho had taken a deep breath and wiped his hands on his jeans at least thrice.

“Yunho-ah,” Mingi said, coming to a stop next to him. “Relax. I’ve told you, they’re harmless.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Yunho mumbled, wiping his hands _again._ Mingi reached his free hand, grabbing Yunho’s in a firm grip. Yunho finally tore his eyes from the door and looked at Mingi. He broke into a small smile. “Sorry, for being so…all over the place.”

“I get it, you’re nervous,” Mingi said. Without any preamble, he reached his crutch and banged it loudly on the door. “You just need to meet them, so you can see there’s no reason to be!”

Yunho’s eyes widened and began to fumble as Mingi giggled at his panic. Before he could form a response, the door swung open to reveal Seonghwa.

“Mingi-ah, you know you don’t need to knock! Both of you, come in!” Seonghwa backed away, opening the door wider for Yunho, who began bowing nervously in greeting.

Mingi was still giggling when they finished kicking off their shoes, Yunho continuing his furious bows.

“ _Aish,_ none of that! It’s nice to see you again, Yunho!”

“And—and you, Seonghwa-ssi.”

“Call me hyung, please. It’s been a while since that day at the bakery, hm? Why don’t you come help me finish setting things up? Yeosang and his guests should be right behind you.” Seonghwa took Yunho’s hands with a gentle grip, smiling a sweet smile to ease Yunho’s nerves. Yunho returned it, only shakier.

“Mingi-ah!” Seonghwa bleated in a much less sweet tone. “Go see if you can pry your hyung away from the studio, will you? Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Nice to see you, too, Mingi-ah. Oh, I’ve missed you, Mingi-ah! How lovely to have you for dinner, Mingi-ah,” Mingi lamented in a faux sorrowful tone, ambling toward the hall.

“Get on it, _Mingi-ah,_ or no dessert.”

“Hyung, that’s cruel! And you’re already replacing me with Yunho?!”

Mingi was quick to dodge a towel chucked his way, laughing loud as he reached the studio. He entered, no bothering to knock, to see Hongjoong, headphones on, glued to his desktop, laptop opened as his side; as usual.

Mingi grinned maliciously, softening his steps as he crept up behind Hongjoong, who remained none the wiser. He reached out a hand, slowly, carefully, ready to slap it down on his hyung’s shoulder and scare him senseless.

Almost there…

“Mingi!”

_“Ahhh!”_

Mingi leapt, hand flying to his chest as his heart leapt to his throat. Hongjoong had jerked around at the last second, yelling his name loudly, scaring Mingi before Mingi could scare him.

“Hyung!” Mingi whined as Hongjoong laughed, head thrown back. Mingi slapped him on the shoulder, but it did nothing to quiet Hongjoong’s giggles.

“I hope you being here means your better half is here, too?” Hongjoong removed his headphones, pushing away from the desk.

“You haven’t met him yet! How would you know if he’s the better half?”

“Well, if he puts up with a brat like you…”

“I’m telling Seonghwa-hyung you don’t get dessert!”

“ _Yah,_ Song Mingi! That’s nothing to joke about!”

When the two of them finally did make it into the kitchen, spicy smells filling the apartment, Yunho and Seonghwa were chatting as they placed plates and silverware along the counter for people to grab.

“Yunho-ah, this is Hongjoong-hyung.”

Yunho smiled bright and wide, like he always does and more at ease, accepting Hongjoong’s handshake with a bow; both Hongjoong and Seonghwa were already won over, Mingi could tell. Yunho’s big, sparkling eyes and round cheeks could charm anyone.

Before long, Hongjoong and Yunho were in a complex conversation about music and dance, and how Yunho works with hearing impaired performers; Hongjoong apparently found that incredibly interesting.

Soon enough, another knock sounded at the door and Seonghwa was weaving his way through the living room to answer.

Yeosang soon entered, looking flawless and untouchable, dressed head to heel in silk and silver jewelry. Jongho was in tow, in a simple sweater, followed quickly by San and Wooyoung. Introductions began but were quick to pause when the latter two froze.

“Yunho?!”

The man in question stood, startled.

“Wooyoungie? San?”

Wooyoung lunged for him, Yunho acting fast to catch him as he clung to him like a monkey, giggling.

“You know each other?” Mingi questioned.

“Wooyoungie dances with me. San usually sits in to interpret,” Yunho said as Wooyoung removed himself, rapid firing sign before anyone could catch what he was saying. “Slow down, Wooyoungie! San, help!”

“What are you doing here? When did you get a boyfriend?” San interpreted, before turning on Yunho himself. “I concur, why haven’t we seen him around? Have you been hiding him from us?”

“It’s still new, relax,” Yunho giggled, reaching over to take Mingi’s hand. “San, Wooyoung, this is Mingi.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Mingi smiled.

“Sorry, they’re a lot,” Jongho said to Seonghwa, not having dropped his nervous grip on Yeosang’s hand. “I’m Jongho. Thank you for having us.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Jongho,” Seonghwa said, grinning. “And don’t worry, liveliness isn’t something Hongjoong and I see a lot of. It’s refreshing.”

“Hongjoong would be me,” Hongjoong came forward, breaking away from where San and Wooyoung had latched to Mingi to interrogate him on his and Yunho’s relationship. “Nice to meet you.”

“Jongho,” Seonghwa gently placed a hand on Jongho’s arm to get his attention. “Please, let me know if there’s anything I can do for you and Wooyoung, alright? I’m afraid I don’t know much, so please, if there’s anything I can do...”

“Thank you, I will,” Jongho assured him. Jongho definitely felt better now, like a weight had been lifted off his chest. Seonghwa gave his arm a light squeeze before letting go.

“Alright, who’s ready for dinner?”

….

Once plates were fixed and everyone found a place to eat, things got _loud._

The atmosphere was boisterous as the group became fast friends, questions being thrown here and there to learn more about each other.

Mingi, San, and Yunho came a small cluster, laughing and hanging off each other, telling stories and jokes. Mingi and San especially seemed to have a similar sense of snark, constantly throwing jabs at each other over their dinners.

Yeosang and Wooyoung connected almost immediately, with the help of a notepad Seonghwa fished out and some over-the-top body language; throughout the night, they had several passionate debates about everything from socioeconomics to children’s cartoons.

Jongho sat back with Seonghwa, both watching and chiming in when necessary. Hongjoong spent most of his time cutting into conversations here and there, mostly to sabotage someone during an argument, only to then sit back and laugh as he fed the flames.

Everything just seemed to click.

….

Seonghwa caught San as they were clearing plates to the kitchen.

“San?”

“Yes, Seonghwa-ssi?”

“Call me hyung, please. I just…I wanted to make sure everything is alright for Wooyoung and Jongho.”

“Hyung, don’t worry. Everyone’s doing great, and they’re having fun!”

“I’m glad. I just wish…I don’t know, that I could do more, to make things more comfortable for them.”

“Seonghwa-hyung, trust me. You’re doing everything you can. Really. This is the first time in a while any of us have been comfortable enough to make new friends.”

“Ok…I’m glad, then. Thank you, San.”

Seonghwa would be lying if he said he didn’t fall a little for the dimples that accompanied the smile San gave him.

….

Eventually, dinner was had and stomachs were full. It was then that board games and alcohol came into play. A dangerous combination, but formality had been replaced with familiarity and everyone was ready to have some fun.

Several bottles of soju made their way to the table—some regular, some peach flavored—and surprisingly, Yeosang forwent his usual preference of wine to start pouring glasses for the table. Jongho drank sparingly in lack of interest, Hongjoong due to precautions with his medications, and Seonghwa for the sake of playing host, but the others had no such reserves.

The game of choice was, at first, Monopoly. Granted, the group made it about halfway through the game before a zealous yet silent fight in sign between San and Wooyoung ended with Mingi flipping the board from the table.

From there, Yeosang suggested Never Have I Ever, the highlights of which were that Jongho had once snapped San’s laptop in half, that Yunho had once vomited all over a sexual partner, and that Yeosang had indeed slept with women before.

….

Hongjoong caught Yunho as he was leaving the bathroom, on his way to return to the others in the living room.

“Oh, Hongjoong-hyung.”

“Sorry to ambush you like this. You mind if we talk a moment?”

“Of course not. Is this the one where you threaten me to not hurt Mingi?”

“Nah, I figured you already got that part. It is about the brat, though, so…I don’t know if you’ve noticed but Mingi’s happy a lot. But sometimes, he’s not, but he…”

“He acts it…he keeps up appearances, so he doesn’t worry anyone.”

“Yeah. I’ve learned to read him and I try to keep him out of his own head, like he does me, but…I’m shit at it, honestly. I’ve got too much rattling around in my own brain, too many dark corners, I just don’t have it in me. I wish I did, but…anyway, that’s besides the point. You’ve got to learn to read him, keep him out of his own head for me. Do you think you can do that?”

“Hyung…”

“Please, Yunho-ah. He’s dealt with this for so long, over a year, and he’s always stayed positive, but—but things have been getting worse for him, these past few months, especially with his PT and his leg not getting better—”

“Hongjoong-hyung—”

“Please…don’t let that kid end up like me.”

“…he doesn’t see you that way. He loves you, looks up to you. You’re family to him.”

“…”

“…”

“…please.”

“Ok, hyung. I promise. You don’t have to worry anymore; I’ll learn to read him, I’ll be there for him.”

“Thank you.”

….

The hour grew late, minds were dizzy with alcohol, and stomachs hurt from laughing.

Yeosang had long passed out, crawling into to Jongho’s lap and wrapping him in his limbs to cling to his front before he did. Jongho was stuck sitting there on the couch, cradling Yeosang’s sleeping form, softly stroking his hair.

The others had migrated to the kitchen, mostly to start cleaning up the living room, when Mingi plopped himself next to Jongho.

“You two seem really happy together,” he said to Jongho, his words only a little fuzzy after the water Yunho had insisted he down. Jongho smiled.

“He makes me happy. I hope I do the same for him.”

“You do. I can tell.” Mingi took a handful of chips left on from the table. “You know, Seonghwa-hyung used to say Yeosang was a hopeless romantic trapped in a loveless world.”

“Huh?”

“I know, right? Who talks like that?” They both snorted. “He was talking about modeling. Yeosang’s perfect for it, but not at the same time. Yeosang always wanted to find true love, like in the movies, but modeling isn’t exactly…anyway, all I’m trying to say is he seems happy with you, really. Maybe you’ll be able to give him that fairytale love one day.”

Jongho didn’t say anything; he stared over Yeosang’s shoulder, focusing only on the little puffs of breath from his boyfriend dancing on the skin of his neck.

“I mean, I know it’s still early in your relationship, I don’t mean to presume. Sorry if I kind of threw this on you. I’m still a little drunk.”

“It’s ok…I hope we can have that. One day.”

….

“San, are you sure you’ll be alright getting him home?”

San looked up from a drunk Wooyoung, who was currently leaning heavily on his shoulder, to Hongjoong. The elder looked a bit warry of letting the two of them, still inebriated, out at such an hour.

“Don’t worry, hyung, it won’t be the first time,” San told him, then considered that might not be as reassuring as he intended. “I sober up pretty quick, plus we’ll just catch a cab. We’ll be home on no time.”

“We could always make more space here.”

“Thanks, hyung, but you and Seonghwa-hyung are out of room. Next time, we’ll stay, and we’ll force someone else to cab home. Deal?”

“Alright,” Hongjoong conceded. “But text once you get back, alright? Or if you need us. You have all our numbers now, so no excuses.”

San cheesed at him a bit, promising him such with a sickly sweet, “yes, _mother.”_ Finally, they bid farewell—Wooyoung offering a dopey smile and a wave—and headed out the door together, San grumbling under his breath how he ended up playing babysitter or something of the sort.

Hongjoong wheeled himself back to the living room where Jongho and Yeosang were out like lights, tangled up together on the couch. On the floor, Seonghwa had brought together any extra pillows and the cushions from the studio couch to form a makeshift pallet; Yunho and Mingi were upon it snoring, long limbs sprawled like two starfish battling for space. 

Seonghwa was spreading a blanket over Yeosang and Jongho when Hongjoong entered with a loud yawn. His boyfriend looked to him with a tired yet satisfied smile.

“Push me to bed, babe?” Hongjoong pouted. Seonghwa rolled his eyes, but obeyed, bringing them both to the bedroom to get whatever sleep they could before the sun rose in a few hours.

“Why do I feel like we just adopted more kids?” Hongjoong transferred to the bed with sleep-heavy limbs, bothering only to remove his jeans before settling beneath the covers.

“Hell if I know,” Seonghwa mumbled, cuddling in next to him.

“Mm. Keep your ringer on, incase San texts.”

“…”

“…”

“We’re going to have people over more often, aren’t we?”

“Mm.”

“We should probably invest in an air mattress.”

“Mm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys have met and friendships have been forged. It's about to start wrapping things up, wouldn't you say?
> 
> Forgive me for not having many words today, but I hope you enjoyed. As always, feel free to chat with me in the comments.


	14. San and Wooyoung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San wasn't sure if this was real or not, though he knew which one he preferred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy

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Wooyoung was surprisingly quiet during the cab ride to San’s apartment; usually, a few drinks more than amplified Wooyoung’s need to chatter, but he’d just rested his head on the door, gazing out the car window at the city lights that sped past.

San was a little worried Wooyoung was close to passing out, and that he’d be stuck carrying up the stairs to his place, but his worries proved unwarranted when they reached the apartment building. Wooyoung all but jumped from the backseat, marching his way up to the front door before San could even finish paying the driver.

San could only stare at Wooyoung’s back as they trekked up the stairs, unsure what to expect once they got behind closed doors.

Eight floors later, they finally reached the apartment and Wooyoung waited with an impatient demeanor while San unlocked it, storming inside and kicking his shoes once he had. San toed off his shoes and followed after him.

San managed to grab Wooyoung by the sleeve, turning him around.

_“You should drink some water before bed.”_

Wooyoung squinted as he watched San sign, then scowled.

_“Shut up, you don’t care,”_ Wooyoung rebutted messily. _“You’ve changed.”_ San sighed. He really didn’t need a drunk, emotional argument at 3 AM.

_“You’re drunk,”_ San settled with, and Wooyoung snorted.

_“I’m not drunk, just buzzed enough to say what’s on my mind.”_

_“Are you really that upset about Monopoly?”_

_“No, you idiot, fuck Monopoly!”_

_“The name calling isn’t appreciated.”_

_“I’m upset that everything’s changed! You don’t give a shit about me anymore!”_

_“Wooyoung, you’re my best friend. I’m always going to give a shit about you.”_ San sat heavily on the arm of the couch, wanting nothing more than to flop down and fall asleep. _“Now, are you going to tell me why you’re really upset or not?”_

Suddenly, Wooyoung placed his hands firmly on San’s chest and shoved him back, making him fall over the arm of the couch and onto the cushions. Before San could move or ask Wooyoung what the hell that was about, he found himself pinned onto his back.

Wooyoung had leapt onto him, straddling and sitting firmly on San’s hips.

With no further warning, Wooyoung leaned down and kissed San hard on the mouth.

San didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

Wooyoung started kissing him thoroughly, with heat and fervor, tongue flicking through San’s lips that sat parted in surprise; San’s mind stayed totally blank. Wooyoung’s hands traveled, one cupping San’s dimpled cheek, the other gripping at his hip.

Why wasn’t San kissing him back? San had wanted this for so, so long, he still did, so why wasn’t he moving? Everything happening was so out of the blue, so fast. Why was this happening, why now? His mind couldn’t stop to focus on one thought, they all just raced by as more and more formed.

Eventually, San was able to pull some coherence back into his mind, and he gently pushed Wooyoung away by the shoulders. The latter stared down at him, looking flushed and lips swollen red, eyes half lidded. He looked stunning.

_“You’re drunk,”_ San repeated from earlier with shaky hands. _“We shouldn’t.”_

That was all San could think in the moment to justify the situation. Surely Wooyoung was drunker than he let on, and he was making a mistake. Even if that didn’t add up, even though San had been around a heavily drunk Wooyoung many, many times and such things had never happened before. San refused to believe anything more.

Wooyoung didn’t respond, just shook his head vigorously, sliding his hand from San’s cheek to the back of his neck, pulling him back into a kiss. This time, after a moment, San’s eyes fluttered closed and he began to kiss back.

It was everything he’d always dreamed it would be, but all so real. It was sweet and eager, Wooyoung puffing out little excited breaths across San’s face. His lips were soft, so soft, and his scent filled San’s lungs, leaving him flushed with heat.

San reached and gripped Wooyoung’s thighs, groping at the flesh there, groaning at the way Wooyoung trembled above him. San’s lips left Wooyoung’s in favor of attacking the fair skin of his neck, leaning up to leave a trail of marks across it.

San bit down firmly, and Wooyoung let out a high, broken moan. It was then that the last of San’s reservations fled his mind.

The air grew hotter, hands continued to wander, and clothes were shed. San had waited years for this night, and though it left him with more questions than answers, he didn’t have the strength to stop and ask them.

….

San woke early the next morning with Wooyoung wrapped around him like an octopus, snoring away. It would’ve been nothing new had both of them not been completely nude still.

He got up, carefully untangling himself, and numbly pulling on some boxers and making his way into the kitchen. He let his body take over, fixing a fresh pot of coffee before sitting at the table, watching the steam curl from the mug as the it cooled, and stewed in his thoughts.

He sat, blank and emotionless, not touching his coffee, and waited for Wooyoung to wake.

It felt like seconds, or maybe hours, before Wooyoung was shuffling into the kitchen wearing boxers and a hoodie two sizes too large. To his credit, he didn’t even try and pretend everything was normal; he approached the table with a somber look and sat across from San, waiting for him to speak.

They sat for a while, San finally taking a drink from his long-cold coffee. Wooyoung was staring past him, reaching up every now and then to flick a strand of bedhead out of his face.

_“I’m sorry,”_ San finally began. Wooyoung’s eyes flicked to him. _“You’d been drinking, last night. I should’ve stopped it.”_

Wooyoung shook his head, looking down. _“I was more sober than I wanted to admit.”_

San took another long pause.

_“Why did you do it?”_ San asked, biting the bullet. Wooyoung looked away again, clearly not able to find the words. San continued, upset. _“Why did you kiss me? Why did you have sex with me?”_

Wooyoung sat, shoulders hunched, looking smaller than usual. His hands raised, then fell, then raised again. He swallowed a lump in his throat, clenched his jaw, and braced himself for whatever he was about to say.

_“I know you’re in love with me.”_

San felt the world freeze around him. His chest went cold and stiff, his face fell.

_“I’ve known for a long time,”_ Wooyoung added, eyes looking glassy. _“Did you really think I never noticed the way you looked at me?”_

San’s mind began to race while his body remained motionless. His heart felt moments away from giving out. He swallowed hard, a rock landing heavy in the pit of his stomach.

_“You never told me,”_ San managed, not know what else to say. _“Why didn’t you…?”_

_“Why didn’t you tell_ me?” Wooyoung countered, staring hard into San’s eyes.

_“You know why,”_ was all San said.

_“That’s why I didn’t, too,”_ Wooyoung admitted. _“I never told you because I didn’t feel the same way. And I didn’t want to hurt you.”_

Just like that, San’s world crumbled around him. His eyes burned with tears, silently falling down his cheeks, creating streaks across his blank expression. The ice in his chest spread all the way down to his toes, his worst fears becoming reality before his eyes.

_“What was last night, then? Why?”_ he signed with trembling hands, bitter feelings welling up in the back of his throat. _“Because you knew I wouldn’t say no? Or a pity fuck?”_

_“You know I wouldn’t do that!”_ Wooyoung snapped.

_“Then why?!”_

_“Because things changed!”_

_“Stop saying that! Nothing’s changed!”_

_“Yes, it did!”_ Tears made their way down Wooyoung’s cheeks as well. _“You changed!”_

_“And how have_ I _changed?”_

_“You don’t care about me anymore!”_ Wooyoung’s face crumpled. _“Not like you used to! You started blowing me off and drifting further and further away…you started hanging around Yeonjun and Soobin.”_

_“Yeonjun and Soobin are a couple!”_ San said exasperated.

_“Yeonjun’s polyamorous,”_ Wooyoung shot back. _“He’s told me.”_

_“What’s it matter to you?”_

_“Because the more you stayed away, the more I wanted you back! And I know, I know it’s fucked up, and I know I have no right to this, because you’d finally started to move on and you’ve probably been hurting for so long and I’m_ ruining _it, but the more I wanted you back, the more I realized that I_ did _want more. More than just… I want…more…”_

Wooyoung started to hiccup out little sobs, unable to meet San’s eye.

_“What do they say, about not knowing what you have until it’s gone?”_ Wooyoung continued, before devolving into sobs, wiping his cheeks on his sleeves with little success of stopping the tears.

San just sat, a million thoughts all fighting for a place in his brain, while also trying to process the information he’s just been dealt.

Wooyoung took a deep gulp of air, reining himself back in. _“Do you remember the night a few weeks ago? We were studying and I was trying to say your name?”_ San nodded. _“I think that’s when I fell for you.”_

San couldn’t take anymore. His chin dropped to his chest and he crumpled, his body shaking with sobs. Tears dripped from his nose onto the table, one splashing into his cold coffee. He heard Wooyoung stand as he padded around the table, gently pulling San into a hug. San wrapped his arms around Wooyoung’s waist and pulled him closer, burying his face into his stomach. The hoodie was soft against his skin. Despite being his own, it smelled like Wooyoung.

“Ddan…Ddana…” Wooyoung was murmuring to him in that high, lovely voice. “Ddana…Ddan, Ddan…” It only made San grip harder and pull him closer.

Eventually, when sobs became sniffles, Wooyoung pulled San’s hands away with a soft grip, perching on the edge of the table and placing San’s hands on his knees.

_“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”_ Wooyoung’s own eyes were red and swollen. _“I’m hurting you. I never wanted to hurt you, I tried so hard not to. I’m sorry.”_

_“Don’t be sorry, please,”_ San replied. _“Are…are you sure you have feelings for me? How do you know you’re not just latching on, that this isn’t just a tactic to keep me close?”_ Wooyoung’s eyes grew even sadder, lips falling open in despair.

_“…I don’t know,”_ Wooyoung admitted, fresh tears springing to his eyes. _“All I know is that I want this. I want more than what we were before. I want us to be together. I want to be with you.”_ San took his hands to stop his rambling.

San took a long, trembling breath, held it, then let it out in one big huff. He felt so overwhelmed, it was too much all at once. For years, he’d waited for his moment, dreamed about it night after night, but now, he just felt dazed and lost.

On one hand, it was unfair, so unfair. He’d finally started to get better, to move forward, past this, only to be jerked right back the center of it. But at the same time, San was so unbelievable happy. Wooyoung wanted him? Wooyoung had feelings for him? It was so much, too many emotions to feel at one time.

Wooyoung ran a soothing hand through his hair as San stared off, trapped in his own thoughts, before taking San’s mug and dumping the contents in the sink. Wooyoung poured him a fresh cup and one for himself before returning to the table.

He’d only just set them down when San stood and took him by the hips, pulling him flush into his chest. Wooyoung let out a little gasp, hands going to San’s bare back, skimming across the skin.

Slowly, San leaned down and pressed a sweet kiss to Wooyoung’s lips, who responded enthusiastically, pressing in willingly. It was lasting, but San pulled away to look at Wooyoung.

_“You’re beautiful,”_ San told him. _“I’ve never had the guts to say it to your face, but you are.”_ Wooyoung blushed prettily.

_“So are you. But you already know that,”_ Wooyoung leaned up and pecked San right on his dimple. _“I’m so sorry, for everything.”_ San shook his head, catching Wooyoung’s hands and pressing them to his lips.

_“I’m in love you with. I’m so in love with you.”_ San felt the weight lift from his chest; a weight he’s carried around for almost a decade. _“I’m going to need time,”_ San said. _“I want this, believe me, I do. I just…”_

_“I understand,”_ Wooyoung smiled at him. _“You waited for me. Now, I’m ready to wait for you.”_

San couldn’t help himself. He grabbed Wooyoung again, pulling him into a deep kiss, that turned into another, then another, until they’d spent the entire morning in each other’s arms.

….

San sat at the counter of the bakery, unsure if he felt better or worse after spilling his guts.

Mingi, Yunho, and Seonghwa sat around him in the empty shop—Seonghwa had closed up about an hour prior—his slice of chocolate lava cake remaining untouched. San had sent a frantic message to their group chat the night before after Wooyoung had finally headed back to his own apartment.

San was beyond glad they’d become such fast friends. He really needed advice from someone other than his baby brother.

They had met him there and listened while he spilled everything that had happened the other night and, subsequently, the morning after. Now, he was sitting and watching as everything sunk in.

“So, how long have you been in love with him?” Mingi asked, sipping his caramel latte.

“Since I was fifteen, so about seven years.”

“And he’s known all along?” Yunho whistled, getting a glare from Seonghwa.

“What do I do?” San asked, desperately. “How do I know he’s not just projecting these feelings because he’s scared of me drifting away? What if I’m just so eager to believe him that I’m not thinking clearly?”

“I don’t know. I mean, you said he realized his feelings over a month ago?” Yunho asked. San nodded in confirmation. “Then, why would he keep it to himself, even though you continued to be distant? It sounds like he was trying to bottle things up, trying to give you a chance to move on without throwing a wrench in things.”

“I agree,” Mingi chimed in. “If his feelings weren’t real, he wouldn’t’ve held back. Besides, we know Wooyoung would never intentionally try and hurt you, right?”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t,” San murmured. “But what if…he doesn’t even realize it himself? And weeks into whatever relationship we have, he decides his feelings weren’t real?”

“San, here’s the bottom line,” Seonghwa cut in for the first time. “That could be true; months from now, things may end between you two and everything Wooyoung is feeling was just a defense mechanism so he wouldn’t lose his best friend. I’m not going to lie, it’s possible.

“But what’s your other option? Breaking up with him so that can never happen? After seven years of loving him, waiting for this moment, are you really going to sit here and tell us, tell yourself, that it’s not worth the risk? For the chance to have a real relationship with him? Are you going to pretend that, if you don’t take that chance, you won’t regret it for the rest of your life?”

San didn’t say anything. Neither did Mingi or Yunho. None of them spoke because they didn’t need to. They all knew Seonghwa was right.

….

**group chat**

**san:** heeeey…

**yeonjun:** a suspicious greeting…

**soobin:** Agreed.

**san:** what made it suspicious

**yeonjun:** the … obviously

**san:** rude

**san:** but accurate

**san:** i have a thing

**yeonjun:** go on…

s **an:** i think wooyoung and i are together

**soobin:** What??? How? What happened?

**yeonjun:** you think?

**yeonjun:** the fuck does that mean

**san:** it means i dont know what we are rn but we had sex

**san:** and he confessed but i was overwhelmed

**san:** but im gonna go for it

**san:** i cant not ya know

**yeonjun:** fuck I owe Beomgyu so much money

**soobin:** San, that’s great! We’re really happy for you!

**soobin:** We know you felt like this would never happen, but I’m so glad you’re giving it a chance.

**yeonjun:** we’re always here if you need us ok?

**soobin:** For anything, really. Just let us know!

**yeonjun:** and you’re still required to come to game night

**yeonjun:** just because you got a man doesn’t mean I wont still wreck your ass at mario kart

**san:** thank you guys

**san:** really for everything

**san:** and fuck you yeonjun id like to see you try

….

Three weeks passed in the blink of an eye for San.

Winter had finally hit full force, a bit late in the season, and classes were creeping closer and closer to restarting for the semester. Both of which San was not looking forward to.

He entered the apartment, keys jingling, kicking off his boots and throwing his heavy padded coat onto a hook. He waltzed through the kitchen, snatching a bottle of strawberry milk from the fridge, before finding Wooyoung lounged across the couch, nose buried in his phone.

San threw himself over his boyfriend, making him squawk and lose his phone across the carpet. San wiggled his way between Wooyoung’s legs, snuggling into his chest as he breathed in that sweet, clean scent. He could feel Wooyoung giggling.

Wooyoung squirmed until his arms were free, grabbing San by the cheeks and turning him to look up. Squishing his cheeks together, Wooyoung giggled again at the visual, then leaned down to peck San on the lips in leu of a greeting.

San smiled through squished cheeks and offered Wooyoung the milk, who took it enthusiastically. They stayed like that for a bit, Wooyoung gulping down the drink while San closed his eyes, resting on his boyfriend’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.

Soon, Wooyoung was shaking him, and San looked up, resting his chin on Wooyoung’s sternum. Wooyoung looked serious, lips in a pout, so San sat up to talk.

_“Everything ok?”_ San started.

_“Fine, I just…wanted to ask something,”_ Wooyoung said, worrying underlining his smile. San motioned for him to continue. _“I’ve been wondering…am I doing ok?”_

_“With what?”_

_“With us. Our relationship. Are you happy?”_

San laughed a bit, shaking his head. _“Why would you think I’m not?”_

_“I don’t know,”_ Wooyoung glanced away. _“It’s just that you’ve been waiting for this for so long, you’ve probably thought about it a lot, and I was just wondering if I was…living up to your expectations.”_

San nodded, pretending to think about it, before giving a teasing smile and jumping across Wooyoung’s thighs, pinning him to the back of the couch. Wooyoung’s eyes went wide in surprise.

_“I promise you, whatever fantasies I had when I was fifteen is nothing compared to the real thing,”_ San assured him. _“I’ve never been happier.”_

With that, San pinned Wooyoung’s wrists to keep him from responding, and swooped in to kiss him. It was deep and sensual, and San hoped Wooyoung felt every bit of it.

They pulled away, sharing little pecks in between, until Wooyoung raised his hands to say something. San shook his head with an “mm-mm” before pulling him back in for another heated kiss; it proved a successful distraction.

He pulled away again, and Wooyoung again tried to sign, but San repeated his strategy, kissing him again. Wooyoung tried once more, getting out a _“But I—”_ before San silenced him again with his lips.

Wooyoung was laughing into the kiss at that point, until San gripped the nape of his neck and ground down with his hips, causing Wooyoung’s breath to stutter.

Wooyoung pulled back one last time.

_“I think I love you.”_

San felt his eyes well up, but he covered it with a smile. He could feel his heart swell with joy.

_“I love you, too. So much.”_

_“Shit. We could’ve had this so much sooner if I’d wised up and seen what was in front of me!”_ Wooyoung huffed. San threw his head back with a laugh.

_“We have this now. That’s all that matters.”_

The light in Wooyoung’s eyes, the happiness behind his smile, the love in his heart, was all that mattered. It was only the beginning, and there was still so much ahead, they both knew, but instead of daunting, San felt an overwhelming sense of content.

Finally, San’s world was complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3,000+ words to make WooSan a thing. I'm exhausted.
> 
> Just to be clear, WooSan is the only couple we will not take a deep dive into their relationship, given that it is new and complicated. This is supposed to be them opening the door to the possibilities of what they could be, and embracing those possibilities.
> 
> As you can probably tell, we are slowly yet surely reaching the end of this story. I don't know what's after this-- another ATEEZ fic, a sequel, or maybe delving into another fandom like the multistan I am-- but I'm sure we'll figure it out.
> 
> If you have anything you want to see from me after this story concludes, let me know.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and as always, feel free to chat with me in the comments


	15. Mingi and Yunho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to face reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy

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“Mingi-ssi?”

Mingi was snapped from some deep, dark corner in his mind, eyes darting up to look at the doctor.

“I asked if you had any other questions for me?” The doctor had that sad, pitying look on his face, and it honestly made Mingi want to throw himself out the window.

Gaze falling back to his hands, folded in his lap, Mingi shook his head. The doctor sighed, standing.

“I’m very sorry about this, Mingi-ssi. It’s an unfortunate situation, and it’s important to remain realistic, but I hope you don’t abandon all hope just yet, hm?”

Mingi just nodded, numb. The doctor made his exit, leaving him alone where he sat in the check-up room on the cold and uncomfortable pleather bed. After a long moment of fighting back the sting of tears, Mingi moved to grab his cane, cursing the tremors in his hands.

He made his way out of the hospital, barely acknowledging anyone he passed, taking his paperwork from the nurse with a barely-there nod. He was supposed to be calling someone to pick him up, but the last thing Mingi wanted was for someone to see him right now.

A long train ride would help; if anything, it would help to clear the smell of antiseptic and death the hospital always left him with.

….

Mingi sat in the corner of the bakery, shoving a forkful of carrot cake into his mouth, drowning his sorrows in sugar and buttercream frosting. He had already downed a caramel latte and four peanut butter cookies. His cheeks bulged as he tried not to think about the number of calories he had consumed today.

He chewed slowly, thoughtfully, only to be startled when Wooyoung plopped down across from him, followed closely by San. Mingi coughed a bit, the jump making him inhale and choke on the crumbs.

“Mingi-ah!” San exclaimed, slapping him on the back. “I know you’re exited to see us, but wow. That’s a bit much.” Mingi sipped his tea to wash down the cake, glaring at San from his mug.

Wooyoung tapped on the table to get their attention. “Hey, we all know you prefer Seonghwa-hyung’s cookies. You only eat cake when something is wrong. What is it?” Wooyoung signed, San interpreting for him.

“Hm. Plus, you’re hiding in the back corner instead of pestering Seonghwa-hyung at the counter,” San added, signing as he spoke. Mingi looked back and forth between them, then ducked his head and took another bite of cake. “Mingi…didn’t you have a doctor’s appointment today?”

Mingi stopped chewing, then swallowed thickly and grimaced. He paused, then placed his fork down.

“It was bad,” Mingi admitted. “But…can we not talk about it? Please? I could really use a—a distraction.”

“Yeah, of course,” San assured him, looking worried. Mingi took a deep breath.

“How have you two been?” Mingi said, tone forcibly lighter, smiling. “Honeymoon phase wearing off yet?” Wooyoung grumbled as he read San’s hands.

“Please. San hasn’t let us get to that point. We’re taking things slow as humanly possible.” San scowled at Wooyoung’s words before adding his own. “Hey, things are complicated! We need to work things out before we leap back into bed!” Wooyoung and Mingi both giggled.

From there, Wooyoung launched the long list of things comprising his and San’s relationship, and how things have changed. It seemed they were still struggling to find the switch from best-friend-mode to boyfriend-mode, but Mingi could tell they were figuring it out, step by step.

Watching Wooyoung’s hands and listening to San’s voice, Mingi found himself catching on to a few words—San’s name sign, the sign for “happy,” the sign for “love.”

“What about you? How—” San stopped himself, kicking Wooyoung under the table with a look. Wooyoung pouted.

“What is it?” Mingi asked. Wooyoung gave San a look until the latter sighed and finished the question.

“How did you and Yunho meet? I’ve never heard the story.”

Mingi smiled. That was ok, those were all good memories. He didn’t mind.

“We shared a dorm,” Mingi began, “two years ago, now? Yeah, two years. We were both freshmen, and both dance majors. To be honest, I was pretty much in love with the guy day one, but we spent the whole year just dancing around each other. Then, with about two or three weeks left in the year, we sort of…jumped each other. Like…bottled up feelings finally overflowing. Or maybe exploding is the better word.

“We woke up the next morning sore and naked in the same bed, and neither of us could make any excuse. We weren’t drunk, so we couldn’t even blame alcohol. It just…became whatever it was. We never talked about it. We kept sleeping together, until a few days before finals, I was walking down the street and suddenly I just…couldn’t anymore. My right side started going numb and I fell, people started crowding me and asking what was wrong. My chest started to hurt. It felt like someone was standing on it. It got so hard to breathe, until I just…I just stopped. I remember that I stopped breathing…next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital, days later.”

Mingi, at this point, had lost control of his thought process, only snapping back when the silence became too long. He looked up from his cake to San’s glassy eyes and Wooyoung practically weeping. His heart dropped like a rock.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I…didn’t mean…that’s not what you asked.”

Wooyoung reached across the table and grabbed his hand tight, using his other hand to sign something Mingi was able to decern.

_“It’s ok.”_

Wooyoung gave Mingi a watery smile, which Mingi tried to return.

“I didn’t talk to Yunho, or anyone from school for a whole year,” Mingi said softly. “I never told him what happened to me, until we met again a couple of months ago. And…he still wanted me.”

“Of course, he did,” San cut in, blinking back his tears and grinning, ruffling Mingi’s hair. “You’re, like, the biggest, most loveable idiot in existence.” Mingi scowled playfully, Wooyoung releasing his hand with one last squeeze.

“I feel more insulted than loved,” Mingi pouted before picking up his fork and digging back into his cake.

San reached for a bite, which then started a sword fight between the two, cutlery serving as their weapons. Wooyoung was turned, waving down Seonghwa as the the eldest took his lunch break, happily coming over to take his place among the chaos.

….

Mingi’s heart jumped to his throat when he heard the door open, grabbing his cane and standing from where he’d been zoned out on the couch. It had been nice at the bakery, pretending for a while that everything was alright, but reality was calling now, and Mingi had to face facts.

Yunho waltzed in, a huge grin on his face as he leaned in to kiss Mingi hello, hands full of take out. He made his way to the kitchen, talking over his shoulder as he did.

“Missed you today! I got Chinese, you said yesterday you had a craving, right?” Yunho turned from grabbing plates and silverware to look at his boyfriend. “How was the appointment today? What did the doctor say?”

This time, Mingi’s silence didn’t go unnoticed.

“Mingi?” Yunho asked, mood shifting. He rounded the counter and came back to the living room. “Everything ok?”

“About the appointment,” Mingi mumbled. “We need to talk. Can we sit?” Yunho nodded, gently pulling Mingi down onto the sofa with him. Mingi took a deep breath.

“I talked to my doctor,” he began slowly. “We did the usual check-up; he reviewed my PT notes…he said it’s not looking good. That my progress has plateaued for—for too long. He said, even if there is progress from here on out, it’ll most likely be small and seldom. He said at this point, there a good chance any paralysis left will—will remain, permanently.” Mingi tried to get through the explanation, but his voice kept breaking. He still forced back the tears.

“He said…PT is still a must, but…to be realistic.”

Mingi looked up at Yunho, who was wearing the most heartbroken expression.

“So, now—now we know…I’m…I’m never going to dance again.”

They sat in silence, Yunho at a lost for words and Mingi still fighting off tears that wanted so badly to fall. They could tell that both of them were numb, knowing there was no way around this. There were no cure, or magic words, or tender love and care that was going to fix it; it just _was._

Mingi knew, intrinsically, that he and Yunho both had been hopeful that, one day, they’d be able to dance together again. Mingi knew he’d never be the same, never move the same, but he’d been ready to start from zero, and build himself back up. But his current condition wouldn’t even allow for that, and never would. No, not his _current_ condition anymore…but just his condition.

Suddenly, Yunho stood, straight up and with a determined glint in his gaze.

“Yes, you will,” was all he said before marching over to grab his phone off the counter, opening it and tapping around as he walked back. A song started playing, an OST from some drama they’d watched, as he threw his phone onto the cushions.

Yunho offered his hand to Mingi.

Mingi took it, slowly, and Yunho helped him stand.

“Like this,” Yunho whispered, maneuvering Mingi’s bad leg so his foot rested on top of Yunho’s, the latter taking the weight and acting as a guide. Mingi wove his arms around Yunho’s neck, finding his balance. Yunho took Mingi’s waist and began leading, gently swaying them around the apartment.

It was off beat and a little uncoordinated, but they made it work, slow dancing to the ballad that played just audibly from the phone. Yunho leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Mingi’s and whispered, “See? You’re dancing.”

Mingi looked up at him, eyes large, before he finally, finally broke, allowed himself to cry, and collapsed against Yunho’s chest. Yunho was ready, receiving him with a firm embrace, ignoring the stream of tears that soaked through his shirt to his skin.

He continued their dance as Mingi sobbed in his arms.

….

It was late, much later than either Mingi or Yunho wanted to be awake on a weekday. Yunho had consoled Mingi for hours before finally coaxing him into a bath. He’d sat in the tub, Yunho gently stroking his back, his hair, his arms, until the water ran cold.

Yunho was taking his own shower now, and Mingi was sat on the bed, wrapped in the comforter, with his laptop open on his lap. The harsh light was shining onto his clean face, casting sharp shadows across his features. That was how Yunho found him.

He emerged from the bathroom followed by a rolling cloud of steam, dressed in pajama bottoms and a towel wrapped around his neck. Yunho was still toweling his hair when he threw himself down next to Mingi, snuggling in close.

“What are you looking at?” Yunho asked lightly, pressing his nose into Mingi’s shoulder and enjoying the fresh soap smell he carried. Mingi didn’t answer, so Yunho looked for himself.

“University?” Yunho asked, surprised, sitting up.

“I—yeah. I never really dropped, just took time off, so I was thinking, maybe, now that we know, I could…” Mingi trailed off.

“Your major?”

“There’s an arts management course,” Mingi motioned to the screen. The page he’d been reading was specificities for the major course. “It’s really business management with a focus on the arts, but—but you know, you said once, that I might not have to leave dance behind just because I can’t _dance,_ so maybe…” Mingi sighed, feeling like his words were just jumbles of incoherence.

“Mingi-ah…”

“What do you think?” Mingi looked at him, finding Yunho staring at him with stars in his eyes. Mingi fidgeted. “Well, say something?”

“You’re incredible,” Yunho said gently. “And I’m in love with you. You’re the most incredible, brilliant, strongest person I’ve ever met.” Mingi’s jaw dropped.

“Y—Yunho-ah…”

“Whatever you want,” Yunho said earnestly, scooting closer. “Whatever you want, I’m right here. But, this…I think this is great, Mingi-ah. Seriously.” Mingi let out a single, unbelieving laugh.

“I’ve put you through so much,” Mingi murmured. “And you still think I’m this great person.”

“One day, I’ll convince you it’s true,” Yunho assured him, smiling wide. “So, management?”

“I mean, I’ll need to think it over, make a plan, look at finances, but it seems like the logical next step, right? I could manage a team, maybe even a studio.”

“See?” Yunho pecked his cheek. “Brilliant.”

Mingi tore his gaze from the laptop, taking a moment to looking into Yunho’s eyes. It’s like he could see Yunho’s heart there, beating and shining so bright and pure and loving. No matter what Yunho thought of him, it would never come close to how incredible Yunho was, standing strong through everything, right at Mingi’s side. So ready to listen, so prepared to learn, so eager to love him.

Yunho really was the best of them all.

“I love you,” Mingi said.

Yunho smiled even wider.

“I love you, too.”

Mingi prayed to whatever god that be that one day, he might be worthy of that love. Of Yunho.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I was torn for a while whether I wanted Mingi to have a full recovery or not. I'm not even sure why I went the route I did, but I do think it speaks to both of them as characters, and Mingi finding a future elsewhere hopefully brings a nice ending to this arc. 
> 
> Only two chapters left! What am I going to do with my life once this is done? Too many ideas, not enough fingers to type...
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and as always, feel free to chat with me in the comments


	16. Jongho and Yeosang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the strongest of people have insecurities, and even the happiest of couples have fights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy

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**Yeosang-hyung:** Come to my shoot today?

Jongho stared at the message, not quite sure what to think of it. It wasn’t the first time Yeosang had invited him to his work, but Jongho had always found a way around accepting. He couldn’t picture a world where he’d be comfortable in such an environment, even with Yeosang.

His phone buzzed again.

**Yeosang-hyung:** It’s very androgynous

 **Yeosang-hyung:** My birthmark is showing

Well, how on earth was Jongho supposed to ignore that? He scowled at the screen as he typed, asking when and where, cursing how well Yeosang knew his weaknesses.

So, he found himself at a huge, shining building a couple of hours later, being led around by a smiling assistant who was surprisingly adept at sign. She eventually guided him to the studio, announcing his presence to a different assistant, who then scurried off to tell Yeosang.

The studio was massive; high, steel rafters and no lighting, save for the insane amount of lights surrounding the shoot set. Sat in the middle, in a red velvet throne trimmed with gold, was Yeosang, posed and stunning as the photographer scurried around him, snapping shots.

Jongho felt his jaw drop.

Yeosang was dressed in a pair of simple, loose black pants, tied tight at the knee down, his bare torso covered by a thick, embroidered silk robe opened at the chest, draped over his shoulders and flowing down into a train across the floor.

His makeup was heavy, a dark smokey eye and a deep, true red lip, the femininity of the face contrasting the masculinity of the body. His hair was wetted and slicked back. As Yeosang moved, the massive robe slipped from a shoulder, revealing more of his birthmark as the photographer ate it up, snapping shot after shot.

The first assistant presented him with a chair, asking him to wait and remain quiet until they stopped for a break. Jongho had no problem with that, watching completely enthralled as Yeosang made his home in front of the camera, commanding the room. He looked like majesty, royalty.

Before he knew it, half an hour had passed and they were calling for a break while Yeosang changed outfits. One of the many other assistants helped Yeosang out of the sea of silk, whispering to him. Jongho saw is eyes light up before searching the back, finding where his boyfriend was sitting.

He immediately abandoned the set, prancing over to Jongho, who stood with a smile to meet him. Yeosang threw himself into his arms.

“Careful, your makeup!” Jongho laughed. Yeosang pull away, grabbing Jongho’s cheeks and leaned in, giving him an air kiss to avoid covering them both in lipstick.

“What do you think?” Yeosang took a step back and gave a spin.

“What was that? It’s a little dark, hard to see.”

“What do you think of my look?”

“You look…wow.”

“I knew you’d love it,” Yeosang giggled. “It’s everything you love seeing me in.”

“I love seeing you in anything,” Jongho pouted.

“I know, I know,” Yeosang waved a hand, “but you have your preferences. Just like _I_ love seeing you in that leather jacket with the fur collar…and nothing else.” Jongho’s ears burned red.

They chatted a bit more, Yeosang explaining this and that about the intricacies of the shoot, until he was ushered away for the last outfit.

When he emerged again from the dressing room, he was wearing a long, flowing skirt that moved heavy around his legs as he walked, paired with a long-sleeved cropped top, embroidered with shining gold thread and beading. It went well with the royal theme.

Jongho sat, going between watching his boyfriend and working on his laptop, and within the hour, they called it. Yeosang skipped over, planting a sticky lipstick kiss on Jongho’s cheek, before dancing away to change. Jongho wrinkled his nose, attempting to wipe the red from his cheek and hide his grin.

As he packed up his laptop and people began to mill about, changing the set and adjusting lights and such, Jongho couldn’t help but notice eyes lingering on him. Many people looked him up and down, attempting subtly, but failing miserably.

Jongho felt his shoulders fall, shrinking into himself a bit. He felt his brain start to work; they saw him with Yeosang, what were they thinking?

A pair of who appeared to be models walked past, glancing at him before turning to whisper to each other. Jongho felt a rock hit the pit of his stomach. Did they think he wasn’t good enough to be there? Maybe they saw him signing with the assistant, did they know he was deaf? He felt seconds away from turning and fleeing the room, but was interrupted by Yeosang’s return, sporting comfortable clothes and face clean.

Jongho shook off the bad thoughts and plastered on a smile, taking Yeosang’s hand as they headed off together. Jongho did what he could to leave the judgmental stares behind him and focus on his boyfriend.

….

Unfortunately, the stares seemed to leave their brand on Jongho, seared into his skin, and he couldn’t shake them even once they’d reached Yeosang’s place. He was changing out of his jeans and sweater and into sweats when he caught his reflection in the full-length mirror. He abandoned the t-shit on the bed and walked in front of it.

He stared at his shirtless form. He’d never considered himself large, but he supposed he was _thicker_ than some. He definitely didn’t have the lean form of Yeosang, or San, or even Wooyoung. He ran a hand over his tan skin—a contrast to Yeosang’s creamy fair skin—reaching up to trace his features.

He wasn’t ugly, was he? He supposed that didn’t matter, since he wasn’t a model by any stretch and it made Jongho feel like he didn’t really fit at Yeosang’s side. Is that how everyone else saw it, too? Strangers spotting them out on dates, their friends, his brother even?

Jongho would be lying if he said he’d never considered such things before, but the thought that other people could see it, could cut straight through him, pick out his insecurities, and question his relationship with Yeosang, that was something else entirely.

His spiraling thoughts were interrupted by Yeosang entering the bedroom, coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist, placing his chin on Jongho’s shoulder. Jongho could see him ask if he was ok, Yeosang’s hands wandering across his skin.

“I’m fine.” Jongho removed Yeosang’s hands, walking back to the bed and pulling the t-shirt over his head. He turned back, only to find Yeosang with furrowed brows.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Jongho-ah, I’m tired of this,” Yeosang pouted. “We’ve been dating for months now, when are you going to start telling me when something’s wrong?”

Jongho stared him down for a moment, emotions welling up in his throat.

“Being at your work today…” he began. “It was nice seeing you but…everyone was staring. A lot.”

“Oh, baby,” Yeosang went to him, taking his hand. “I’m sorry, they just get a little nosy. When they saw you with me—oh, I’m sorry if they jumped you with questions or anything.”

“It—it’s not that. I’m—I’m not—” Jongho cut himself off, taking his hand from Yeosang. “Hyung, you’re a model! And…I’m not that! I’m not skinny or beautiful, like you, I’m just some deaf kid who’s still in school, and I can’t buy you nice dinners and you’re stunning, n’gorgeous n’ y’ve’got m’ney, Sang-h’ng—” Jongho took a shaky breath, trying to control his speech as he felt his words get sloppy. “And when people see us, I look like—like some charity case next to you!”

Yeosang stood, speechless.

“Jongho,” he said slowly, before suddenly his expression changed. “Why the fuck does that matter?”

“What?”

“You think I’d care that you’re not a _model?_ That you’re not as skinny as me or as rich as me? You—why—”

“Hyung, that sort of thing matters to people!”

“Not to me!”

“Why not?!”

“Because that’s surface level shit!” Yeosang exploded. “What kind of shallow piece of shit would I be if that’s all I wanted out of you, out of anyone?!” Tears made their way to Yeosang’s eyes. “I’ve been there, where someone only wants me because then they can prance around saying they’re dating a model, or they think they can blow my money, and I’d like to think I’m not that shit of a person!”

“No, hyung, you’re not, that’s not—” Jongho tried, struggling to read everything Yeosang was saying. “But…you should be with someone you deserve. And to the rest of the world, that’s not me. You should be with someone as good as you are. Someone beautiful and they can buy you nice things—”

“Does what I want factor into this at all?” Yeosang asked, seeming more heartbroken than anything.

“But I’m not good enough, hyung.” Jongho’s face started to crumple as his tears matched Yeosang’s.

“You’re perfect,” Yeosang went to him, cupping his face so he couldn’t look away. “You’re sweet and handsome and soft, and you do so much for me, and all of it makes me love you more every day. You’re not a charity case, you’re a _person.”_

Jongho’s body began to tremble and Yeosang pulled him into his arms. Jongho cried into his boyfriend’s shoulder, doing his best not to make a sound. He swallowed down the sobs, tears staying silent. Yeosang drew back so he could speak, keeping his grip firm.

“I never knew you had all these insecurities,” Yeosang said gently. “Will you talk to me about them from now on? So they don’t build up like this?” Jongho dropped his head, nodding.

“You…said you love me,” Jongho almost whispered.

“Yeah, I do love you, Jongho-ah.”

“Um, I love you, too. A lot. And I’m sorry I yelled like that.”

“I love you, Jongho,” Yeosang patted down Jongho’s soft brown hair. “I’m sorry, too.” He leaned in, pressing a tearful but soft kiss to Jongho’s lips. “You know, I really do love your body. I’m so bony, but you’re built, so nice and thick and muscle-y.” Jongho tried to duck away, but Yeosang was relentless. “And that pretty smile, those big eyes just light up, and you have _such_ nice lips.”

“Hyung,” Jongho whined, trying and failing to hide a grin.

“Should I show you? Hm? Show you how much I love all of you?” Yeosang leaned down, pressed a light kiss, lips skimming the skin of Jongho’s neck.

“Hyung…I want to be able to treat you like you deserve,” Jongho said, holding him closer. “I just want you to be happy.”

Yeosang mumbled something against his neck, but when he came back up, the blinding smile he gave Jongho—before pulling him into a searing kiss—told him all he needed to know.

_I am happy. You make me happy._

….

Jongho woke the next morning to thin fingers combing through his hair, blunt nails scratching gently against his scalp. He squinted his eyes open, the light clearing to reveal Yeosang’s face, swollen cutely with sleep, grinning down at me.

“What a creep, watching me while I sleep,” Jongho croaked, turning to snuggle in Yeosang’s hand. Yeosang laughed, saying something, but Jongho only groaned, “Too tired to read. Just wanna cuddle.”

So, they did, holding each other long into the morning. Thankfully, it was Sunday, and neither of the had anything scheduled. Jongho eventually wiggled his way into Yeosang’s neck, burying himself in his morning scent.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Jongho broke the silence. Yeosang pulled his head from his neck so he could look at him.

“Which part?” Yeosang smiled. “The part where I fucked you open with my tongue? Or the part when you came on my cock, screaming my name?” Jongho flushed bright red.

“I hate you,” he mumbled, pulling up the blanket to hide his face. Yeosang was giggling, wrestling it away, pressing kisses against his cheeks in apology. “You know what I mean, that…I’m sorry I yelled at you like that.”

“It’s ok, baby, I yelled, too.”

“But I started it. I shouldn’t have gone off like that.”

“It’s ok, I’m sorry, too. We’re ok, baby, it was just a little fight. It’ll happen.”

“I don’t like fighting with you.”

“Me neither. I guess all I have to do is prove to you how gorgeous you are.”

“Hyung…”

“Come ’ere.” Yeosang gave him a long kiss, morning breath be damned.

Once they’d finally made it out of bed and to the kitchen, they cooked side by side and Yeosang continued with the cheeky mood he was in. He, at one-point, swatted Jongho’s thigh, who in turn grabbed Yeosang around the waist from behind, lifting and spinning him around as they laughed. It was slow progress, but eventually breakfast was ready and they sat down together.

“Jongho-ah,” Yeosang tapped the table in front of him. “If I asked, would you teach me sign?” He said it casually, like something just off the top of his head. Jongho, on the other hand, was frozen, his bite of eggs halfway to his mouth.

“Um…why?”

“So I can learn.” Yeosang noticed Jongho’s demeanor. “Why, is that bad?”

“No, no, it’s just…I’ve never wanted…anyone to have to learn a whole new language to talk to me, you know? I’ve worked hard so people don’t need to.”

“I get that, but what if I want to?”

“I mean, I can’t stop you, but…”

“Well, think about it this way. Why do you practice lip reading and your speech so much? So that you can communicate with more people, right? And learning sign would help me communicate with more people, too.” Jongho pursed his lips in thought. “What about Wooyoung? We’ve gotten close, and I’d love to be able to talk to him without a notepad. Or what if I work with a deaf photographer one day? Or a model, or may—”

“Ok, alright, I get it,” Jongho said with a stiff grin. “As long as you’re doing it for yourself, ok? And not for me.”

“Of _course_ not,” Yeosang said, obviously dripping with sarcasm. Jongho stuck out his tounge. “I love you.” Yeosang reached and took Jongho’s hand. “How do you sign that?”

Jongho showed him a few times, standing and rounding the table to help guide his hands. After a few times, Jongho had the suspicion that Yeosang was messing it up on purpose, but he wasn’t complaining.

“I love you, too,” Jongho eventually said, dipping down to peck Yeosang’s lips, taking his plate from the table. “Come on, help me with the dishes and I’ll help you learn the alphabet.”

Yeosang was right behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, ya'll, we're so close to the end and I still have NO CLUE what I'm going to write next. 
> 
> Anyway, some lovely angst topped off with some fluff -- spoonful of sugar to help the medicine, if you will. The two best boys just loving each other so much, they fight about it. I do hope you enjoyed the chapter, and next time, I see ya'll, it'll be the end!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, and as always, feel free to chat with me in the comments


	17. Seonghwa and Hongjoong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have all they need, and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end...Enjoy

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.

.

.

There was something therapeutic about being at a café that wasn’t his own. For one, the bakery didn’t have outdoor seating; he couldn’t sit outside, enjoying the warmth of his latte in the shining sun against the chill, brisk breeze like he was now. Seonghwa expected that Yeosang wouldn’t appreciate his seating choice.

He was right.

“Hyung, it’s _freezing!_ Why aren’t we sitting inside?” Yeosang sat across from him, something frothy and sweet-smelling in his hand. He shivered, pulling his scarf tighter with one hand and sipping his drink with the other.

“It’s a nice day,” Seonghwa said dismissively. “The sun’s out for once.” Yeosang snorted.

“A nice day, sure.” He took another long gulp, undoubtably searing his tongue. “You’re the one who’ll have to explain to Jongho why his boyfriend’s ass froze shut.”

“Gross,” Seonghwa grimaced. “Speaking of Jongho, how’s the sign going?”

“Good, but slow,” Yeosang whined. “Did you know it takes approximately two years to become fluent in a language? And that’s _if_ you’re using it, like, nonstop.”

“And you’re horribly, horribly impatient,” Seonghwa mused. “You could always tell Jongho to stop speaking to you completely, and only use sign. That would force you to learn.”

“You know, it’s so infuriating that you’re right,” Yeosang bit at him. Seonghwa laughed.

“You really did find that fairytale love-story you always wanted, huh,” the elder said after a moment. Yeosang smiled, cheeks going a bit pink, opted with a slurp at the foam of his drink in leu of answering.

Seonghwa tilted his head back, squinting up at the clear blue sky, sun shining pink through the red umbrella above them. He took a deep breath, almost wishing he weren’t in the city. Maybe he and Hongjoong could plan a trip to the beach soon, once the weather warms.

“I told Hongjoong,” Seonghwa broke to Yeosang. “About the nightmares, and the therapy.”

“Oh,” Yeosang said, surprised. “How…did that go?”

“Went well,” Seonghwa said with a nod. “He had suspected something was up, but we both understood that he wasn’t in the best place before to…you know. It would’ve made things worse, for him.” It would’ve broken him, Seonghwa left unsaid.

_“I’m so sorry, baby…that I wasn’t there for you.”_

_“You couldn’t be. We both know that.”_

_“Yeah…but I’m still sorry.”_

“Well, damn,” Yeosang said. “I imagine that was rough, on both of you. And the therapy?”

“Hongjoong wishes I’d told him, but he understood why I didn’t. This whole thing…he would’ve blamed himself. A few weeks ago, this would’ve thrown him into another episode, but we’re both in better places now. He said he’s glad therapy’s helping.”

“Good, that’s good, hyung,” Yeosang said, reaching across to pat Seonghwa’s hand. Seonghwa smiled in return, nodding a little.

_“Hwa, I want you to know…things are different now. You can lean on me, ok? I can take it now. I can be here for you, like I used to be. Ok?”_

_“…Ok. I will, I promise.”_

_“I love you, baby.”_

_“I love you, too.”_

“And it is? Helping, I mean?” Yeosang added, and Seonghwa nodded in affirmation. “He really is getting better, too, isn’t he? I mean, maybe it’s just because I’m around you both so often, but something seems different.”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa said, almost to himself. “We’re good. Really good.”

For the next twenty minutes or so, they steered the conversation toward lighter topics, though, in his mind, Seonghwa couldn’t help but agree with Yeosang. Things were different, lighter. The world didn’t seem quite so dark and heavy, dragging Seonghwa down a little further day after day. He and Yeosang discussed new cupcake flavor combinations for the bakery until Yunho and Mingi showed, the latter sitting to join them while the former went inside to get them drinks.

“About time!” Yeosang exclaimed. “I thought I’d finished my third coffee before you got here!”

“Hey, be grateful we showed at all, yeah?” Mingi snipped back. “We could’ve ditched and stayed in bed all day. Warm, comfortable, _naked—”_

“If you children don’t mind?” Seonghwa interrupted. “I did have something I wanted to tell you two?”

“Everything ok, hyung?” Mingi asked, propping his crutch against the table.

“Yeah,” Seonghwa said a little breathless. “I just wanted both your help with something.

….

San currently had Wooyoung straddled across his lap, and he couldn’t find it in himself to complain.

His hands found the back of Wooyoung’s shirt, slipping under the fabric and exploring the expanse of skin, smooth and warm. Wooyoung groaned high into his mouth, voice breaking. San pulled away from Wooyoung’s lips, swollen and shining, to duck into his neck, latching on like a leech.

He’d left a sufficient amount of marks by the time he pulled away, removing his hands from Wooyoung’s skin, leaving him squirming on San’s lap.

_“We should probably stop,”_ San said, like he always did when they got a little too hot and heavy, but Wooyoung just shook his head aggressively, refusing to unlatch his hands from around San’s neck. He wiggled closer, plastering himself to San, pulling his boyfriend against his chest. San laughed, stifled by the t-shirt

“Mm ‘oo’yung,” San tried to speak, but Wooyoung just smushed him harder. San, out of options, bit lightly at the skin of Wooyoung’s chest, teeth catching his nipple, causing him to gasp and jerk away. San looked up to meet his scowl.

_“Mean,”_ Wooyoung said before crossing his arms, sulking. San reached up, cupping Wooyoung’s cheeks sweetly before squishing them together, leaning up to peck his nose before he was swatted away.

_“If I’m so mean, then I guess I shouldn’t carry you to bed like I planned…”_

Wooyoung’s eyes lit up.

_“Really? Finally, really?!”_ He sat back up in San’s lap. _“I love you, I love you, and I’m not just saying that for the sex.”_ San threw his head back and laughed, Wooyoung surging forward to kiss those dimples.

_“I know,”_ San told him. _“I love you, too. Now, come here.”_

….

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“I know, but, seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.”

Yunho fidgeted in his seat, staring down at the shiny new key as if it had personally offended him. Mingi sat across from him, partially worried and partially amused. There was a long silence, and Yunho seemed to be having a silent conversation with the key.

“Yunho, babe? You still with me?”

The taller snapped back to Mingi, mouth open, but nothing coming out.

“The key isn’t going to hurt you, babe,” Mingi said, giggling. Yunho scoffed.

“You say that now, but this almost broke us up the first time.”

“I know, but circumstances and context are important. We’ve been dating for a while now. We both know what we’re getting into.” Mingi reached over, pushing the key to the side to take Yunho’s hands. “You don’t have to say yes, you know.”

“I know,” Yunho breathed, squeezing Mingi’s hands tighter. “But I want to. Is that ok?”

“You realize I’m the one who asked you, right?”

“Right,” Yunho shook his head. “Right, ok. Um, ok, ask me again?”

“Yunho-ah?” Mingi giggled. “Move in with me?”

“Ok,” Yunho whispered, stars in his eyes; you’d think Mingi had just offered him the moon on a silver platter.

Yunho stood, rounding the table to take Mingi into his arms bridal style, the latter squealing the whole way, the key all but forgotten. Yunho spun them into the living room, Mingi yelping not to drop him.

Soon, the living room would be theirs, the bedroom would be theirs, the kitchen, the bathroom, and so on. They’d have to go shopping, maybe raid an Ikea, to make sure that had a place for everything.

Mingi couldn’t wait.

….

Yeosang walked, shivering, eagerly shedding his coat in favor of the warm apartment air. He could hear Jongho rustling around, most likely fixing his favorite after-class ramen. Yeosang took a deep breath and entered the kitchen. Jongho was facing him, looking up and smiling as he walked in.

_“Hello,”_ Yeosang began. _“How was school?”_

_“Good,”_ Jongho answered slowly. _“How was S-E-O-N-G-H-W-A-hyung?”_ Shit, finger spelling. Yeosang focused, picturing each symbol in his head.

_“S-E-O-N-G-H-W-A-hyung was good,”_ Yeosang answered, chest swelling with pride as Jongho nodded. _“We talked. Coffee was good, but it’s cold inside.”_ Jongho’s eyebrows raised, the sure sign of a mistake. Yeosang’s hands faltered, wracking his brain but coming up empty. He pouted, Jongho laughed, walking to him and taking his hands.

“Outside,” Jongho said, guiding Yeosang’s hands. “And this is inside. It’s cold _outside.”_ His corrections were gentle, but Yeosang felt a sting of disappointment in his chest.

“You know, Seonghwa-hyung said you should just stop talking all together. That way I’d be forced to learn faster.”

“That’s doesn’t sound very fun,” Jongho disagreed, leaning in to peck Yeosang’s lips. “You’re doing really great, and you’re only going to get better. No need to rush.”

Yeosang pursed his lips, knowing Jongho was right. That was twice in one day, Yeosang hated being wrong.

“Hey,” Jongho got his attention. “I love you.” Yeosang fought to keep the corners of his mouth from curling up, ultimately failing. Jongho giggled, happy with his newfound power over his boyfriend. “Come sit, I made plenty of ramen.”

Yeosang allowed the smile this time, admitting to himself that he never thought instant ramen could make him so happy.

….

“Merry Christmas!” San yelled for the fourth time as Yeosang—ever so fashionably late—was the last to arrive. Seonghwa rolled his eyes, going to hug his friend in the spirit of the holidays.

“Choi San! You don’t have to scream every time!” Mingi yelled from the sofa, multitasking as he tried to keep Wooyoung from his slice of pumpkin bread.

“Shut up, it’s Christmas! The best time of the year!”

“Debatable,” someone mumbled; probably Yunho.

“It’s been my favorite time of year since I was a kid!” San continued, undeterred. “I mean, Santa sneaking into houses to see all the children? Leaving them gifts?”

“You know, there’s a joke there, but in leu of the, um, ‘holiday spirit,’ I’ll let it go,” Hongjoong snipped, pushing in the living room with a lap full of goodies Seonghwa had been preparing since two days prior.

Yeosang finally made it to the couch, nestling in between Jongho and Wooyoung, the latter of which was very excited to test out Yeosang’s sign. Seonghwa at once felt like he could breathe again; all his ducklings were accounted for, and now everyone could relax and enjoy themselves. Well, everyone _else_ could. For Seonghwa, if was only _one_ less thing to worry about.

Dinner was served, a feast of take out fried chicken and homemade sides Seonghwa spread before them. Soon after dinner was dessert, which was also plentiful, before everyone settled down for their game of Dirty Santa.

They took turns choosing presents, then stealing them from each other, attempting to hoard the best options. The most popular were a light up Newtons’ Cradle and a fuzzy weighted blanket with puppies on it, the blanket almost causing a fist fight between Yunho and San. The least popular, which Mingi ended up with, begrudgingly, was a manual fruit juicer Jongho had thrown in for comedy’s sake.

All in all, it was a pleasant, fun night. Seonghwa and a few of his guests had to step away at points to call their respective family members, wishing them happy holidays, before returning to the antics as if they’d never left.

“Hey,” Seonghwa reached over to take Hongjoong’s hand, who looked up at him. “You ok?” Hongjoong looked confused, but smiled.

“Yeah, perfect,” he answered. “Why, you worried about the clean up or something? If we get them drunk enough, they’ll spend the night, and in the morning, they’ll have—”

“No, I’m not,” Seonghwa laughed. “I just wanted to make sure. Everyone’s so happy tonight, and I want us to be, too.”

“I’m very happy,” Hongjoong assured him, squeezing their hands together. “We’re here, with our chosen family, and everything’s good. Let’s enjoy it, ok?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa breathed. “Everything’s good.” He bit his tongue hard before continuing, his heart pounding in his chest, up his throat. “But it could be better…”

“Better?” Hongjoong’s brow furrowed.

Seonghwa took a deep breath before reaching to the side table, opening the drawer and pulling out a small, black satin box. Hongjoong’s jaw dropped, and the room faded away.

“You told me once you didn’t want a flashy proposal,” Seonghwa said, a little breathless and staring at the box. “I’m ok with that, but I couldn’t resist getting you a ring…sorry…” Hongjoong hadn’t looked away from the box either, eyes misty. “And, I got us these, too.” Reaching back into the drawer, he pulled a printed email; a flight confirmation.

“New York?” Hongjoong squeaked.

“We could get legally married, if you wanted,” Seonghwa told him. “If not, we can just take a vacation, that sounds lovely, too, I just thought—maybe we would—but I didn’t—”

“Hwa,” Hongjoong’s whisper almost went unheard. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Hongjoong scouted himself forward, cupping Seonghwa’s face. “We can have a ceremony here and do the paperwork in the states.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah we can.”

“Let’s do that.”

“Ok.”

“Seonghwa?”

“Hongjoong…”

“You still with me?”

Seonghwa just stared at him for a moment, before breaking out in a wide grin. “We’re getting married.”

Hongjoong laughed loud, finally leaning in to kiss in new fiancé.

Having held their breaths long enough, the crowd they had forgotten about burst into cheers and tears, Mingi weeping about how happy he was for them with Yunho doing his best to quiet him. Yeosang was jumping on the couch, San and Wooyoung smushing Jongho into a sandwich between them.

Seonghwa finally slipped the ring on Hongjoong’s finger, feeling like a character from a Hallmark movie. He couldn’t find it in himself to care too much.

As the night wore and the conversation shifted to wedding plans and ideas—Wooyoung was _not_ allowed to decorate—Seonghwa couldn’t take his eyes off of Hongjoong. There was a time he never thought he’d see that smile again, but here they were.

He looked at Mingi, thinking about those sad eyes covered up by forced smiles. The smiles were real these days, and the eyes twinkled with joy and wit. He looked at Yeosang, no longer seeing a lonely soul, and Jongho, no longer seeing himself as “the deaf kid,” but so much more. Wooyoung and San and their complicated love story; all that pain was behind all of them now, still there but long since overcome.

Seonghwa smiled a knowing smile, just to himself, and allowed his thoughts to stop for a while. Instead, he’d laugh and jest and let himself get swept away by those around him.

If someone asked any of them what they wanted, what would make things better in that moment, none of them would have an answer.

They had all they needed, and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, here we are. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's read and shown love to this story. I'm sad to see it go, but I couldn't be happier with this journey we took. 
> 
> That being said, I am currently working on a new story--yes, it is ATEEZ-- and the first chapter will be posted shortly. It's called "The Earth Our Tomb," and while it'll still have that realism feel that is my style, there will be some fictional/fantastical elements. So, keep an eye out for that, if you're interested! 
> 
> Thank you all so much, I hope you enjoyed! And as always, feel free to chat with me in the comments. Hope to see ya'll soon...

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, hope you liked it. Leave a comment if you wanna chat. 
> 
> Story time:  
> Over five months ago, I had a very serious accident that resulted in three of my vertebrae being fractured. I was lucky, my spinal cord was fine and the fractures were stable, but that very easily might not have been the case. The doctors kept reminding me that any shift in the fractures could cause need for surgery or worse, paralysis. For a while, I couldn't read fics like this, because they kept reminding me of what could've happened, or what might still happen, to me. In a way, this is sort of me taking back that fear and helping me accept that what happened, happened. 
> 
> Anyway, if you read any of that, thanks for sticking around. Hope you like the fic and where it goes from here


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